One True Love
by dorknhime
Summary: Mercedes Jones, a young physical therapist had catered to her stepsister's whims ever since they were young. One day, she found that a man had left her a house and that her stepsister tried to steal it. Fleeing to Nantucket, Mercedes finds that her guest room is occupied by the wealthy Samuel Evans has injured his leg in a skiing incident. A retelling of Jude Deveraux's Ever After
1. Chapter 1

This fic is based on the Ever After novel by the amazing Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my lovely OTP in it because ever since I read it, I immediately taught of Mercedes and Sam as the main characters. My mind loves to do that. 98% of the story will be the words of Jude Deveraux.

I hope you will enjoy the retelling of the story.

* * *

Mercedes couldn't find the packet of papers she needed to give her boss. She remembered putting them in a big white envelope, then slipping it into her tote bag. Although the bag was in the trunk of her car, the envelope wasn't in it. As she stood in the mall parking lot, she went over everywhere she'd been that morning. To the pharmacy to pick up her stepsister's favourite hair conditioner, to the dry cleaners to get the skirt Aphasia had stained, and she stopped by the garage to ask yet again when Aphasia's car was going to get ready so she could run her own damned errands.

Mercedes took a deep breath to calm herself. There were also six plastic bags in the trunk - all of them full of her stepsister's clothes, unopened bills, shoes, and beauty products - but none of them contained the envelope full of papers. She closed the trunk and turned away. Too much! She thought. It was all getting to be too much for her. Since Aphasia had returned six weeks ago, everything had been chaos. Mercedes was a morning person; her stepsister liked to stay up all night. Mercedes needed quiet to study for her exams; Aphasia didn't seem alive unless some machine was emitting noise. The car Aphasia had driven back from California was in such bad condition that she'd wanted to have it towed away.

"I'll just borrow yours", she said, then left the room before Mercedes could protest. But then Aphasia had made it clear why she was staying. She wanted Mercedes to sell the house and split the money. The fact Mercedes's father hadn't changed his will after he'd married Aphasia's mother made no difference. Aphasia said that _legally_ the house might not be half hers, but it certainly was _morally_.

"He was my father too," Aphasia said, tears in her thickly lashed eyes. As a pretty little girl, she'd perfected the look of sadness that made people give her whatever she wanted. When she grew up to be an even prettier young woman, she saw no reason to stop using her looks to manage people. But Mercedes had never fallen for her act.

"Cut it out!," she said. "It's me, remember? Not some casting director you're trying to seduce"

With a sigh, Aphasia sat up straight and the tears instantly ceased.

"Okay, so let's think about you. Think what you could do with your half of the money. You could travel, see the world"

Mercedes leaned back against the car and turned her face up to the sun. Her stepsister's attitude of here's-something-else-you-can-do-for-me wore a person down. Aphasia's incessant talking, badgering, pleading, and at times anger made Mercedes want to throw up her hands and call a realtor. She'd shown on paper that if she sold the house, by the time she paid off the mortgage she'd had to get to buy a new roof and repair the plumbing and electrics, they would barely break even. But Aphasia had just waved her hand and said houses in L.A sold for millions.

But in the last two weeks Aphasia had been calmer, almost as though she'd given up. She'd been asking Mercedes about her work as a physical therapist, saying, "What would you recommend for a ma with a torn up knee?"

"Describe the injury to me," Mercedes said, and Aphasia had read about it from an email she'd received. Pleased by her stepsister's interest, Mercedes had outlined the lengthy rehabilitation the man would need. Although Aphasia wasn't forthcoming with the details, Mercedes assumed that her stepsister had a friend who'd been injured. Whatever the reason, it had been nice to have some relief from Mercedes' relentless pursuit of her goal. Mercedes began to think that her life was at last coming together. She'd finally finished her coursework, passed her exams, and received her Massachusetts physical therapy license. Next week, she was going to start a job at a small local hospital.

She glanced at her watch. She had just enough time to run home to get the papers and make it to the office before Dr Edwards left for the weekend. As she drove, she thought it was exhilarating to imagine having a whole new life. New career, new job, new _world_. Only it wasn't exactly new. Her job was close to the house she'd lived in all her life, and she'd be working with people she'd gone to school with and her stepsister also planned to stay in the area.

"You're the only family I have left," Aphasia said. Mercedes knew that meant her stepsister would be at her house for every holiday, weekend, and catastrophe in Aphasia's very dramatic life. Mercedes believed in looking on the positive side of life, but sometimes she felt like applying for a job in some faraway, exotic place. When Mercedes turned down her street, she immediately noticed the blue BMW parked in front of her house. It stood out from the Chevys and Toyotas like a jewel in a pile of gravel.

* * *

Across the road, Mrs Chang was opening her mailbox.

"Mike's home" she called before Mercedes could pull into the driveway. "You should come over and say hello"

At the mention of the lawyer son, Mercedes' heart did a little flip. "I look forward to it," she said honestly. Since she was a child, Mercedes had often gone to the older woman - a substitute mother - when Aphasia's give-me-give-me attitude got too much. Chocolate lave cake did wonders to soothe Mercedes's tears.

She parked the car, got out, and closed the door quietly. She glanced at the shiny car, she did wonder who it could be. Mercedes opened the back door slowly so it didn't squeak. As soon as she was inside, she saw the envelope on the table on the far side of the kitchen and she could hear voices. Since there was an open doorway leading into the living room between her and the package, she didn't know how she was going to get across without being seen. But the man's voice took her mind off the papers. She'd heard it before but couldn't place it. When she peeped around the doorway to look into the living room, what she saw startled her.

Aphasia, seen in profile, had on one of Mercedes's suits. She was taller and thinner than Mercedes, so the skirt was shorter and the jacket too big, but she did look businesslike. On the coffee table were a cake and cookies, and what Mercedes knew was Mrs Chang's best tea set. Obviously, Aphasia had known the visitor was coming, but she'd said nothing.

The ma on the couch was facing the kitchen, but his attention was fully on Aphasia. He was talking in a low voice, something about a house, and for a moment Mercedes thought he was a realtor. But, no, she had seen him before. When Mercedes turned back to the kitchen, she remembered. He was Sebastian Smythe, the famous architect. In school she'd dated an architecture student who'd wanted her to go to a lecture with him. The guy had raved about the architect who was speaking. Mercedes had expected to be bored, and she was by what he said, but the speaker was very good-looking; tall, slim but muscular, with dark hair. So, what in the world was the famous Sebastian Smythe doing sitting in _her_ living room?

Mercedes tried to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low. She didn't know if she should step forward and introduce herself or tiptoe out and leave them alone. She had just turned to leave when she heard Mr Smythe say, "Now, Mercedes, if you'll just sign here, the house will be yours"

Mercedes froze in place. Aphasia was pretending to be her and selling the house to this man?! She stepped into the living room. Aphasia, pen in hand, had just finished signing a paper. "May I see that?" Mercedes asked softly, her voice controlled in spite of the anger she could feel bubbling inside her. Aphasia, her face draining of colour, handed the paper to her stepsister. It had the small print of a contract, and on the bottom was Mercedes's full legal name written in a rather good imitation of her handwriting.

"Just let me explain," Aphasia said, her voice near to panic. "It's only fair that I get a house too. It's not fair that you get all the inheritance, is it?" I'm sure dad would want me to have half of whatever he owned. He would -,"

"Excuse me," the man said. "but would someone please explain what's going on?"

Mercedes's anger was rising to the surface. She held out the paper toward him.

"You're Sebastian Smythe, the architect, aren't you? I can assure you that if you plan to put a skyscraper in here, the neighbourhood association will fight you to the very limit of the law"

Her statement seemed to amuse him. "I will do my best to repress my tendency to build skyscrapers wherever I go. Are you Mercedes's stepsister?"

"No. I _am Mercedes_"

The smile left the man's handsome face and for a second he looked from one young woman to the other. Without speaking, he pulled a paper from inside his briefcase and handed it to her. Taking it, Mercedes was shocked to see that it was a photocopy of her passport - only in place of her photo was one of Aphasia. When she looked closely, she could see where her stepsister had carefully cut around the edges of the picture to make it fit. If you were looking at the actual passport, what she'd done would be obvious, but the photocopy hid what Mercedes knew was criminal fraud.

"I had to do this," Aphasia said, her voice frantic, "You wouldn't listen to me, so I did what I had to. If you would only _listen_, I wouldn't have been forced to -"

Her look made Aphasia stopped talking. Silently, Mercedes went to her bedroom, opened the top drawer of her cupboard, and took out her passport. She went back to the living room and handed it to Mr Smythe. He studied the two documents, the looked at Mercedes who was still standing. "This is my fault," he said. "i didn't examine this carefully enough. Now I see what's been done." He looked at Aphasia, his eyes narrowed and angry. "I don't like being part of something illegal. My lawyers will contact you"

"I didn't mean anything bad," Aphasia said, tears welling in her pretty eyes. "I was only trying to be fair, that's all. Why should Mercedes get so much while I get nothing? Dad would have wanted me to have -"

"Quiet!" Sebastian said. "Sit there and don't say another word" He looked back at Mercedes. "I'm beginning to see the enormity of this and I can't apologize enough. I take it I haven't been emailing _you_ for the past two weeks?"

"No," Mercedes was glaring at Aphasia, who had her head down, tears dropping onto her hands clasped in her lap. "I only know who you are because I attended one of your lectures"

Sebastian ran his hand across his face. "What a mess this is!" He looked back at Mercedes. "Since I don't know what's true and what isn't" he glared at Aphasia. "I'd better start at the beginning. You are a physical therapist and you just got your Mass license?"

"Yes"

"That's a relief! What do you know of your father's relatives?"

"Very little. He was orphaned young and raised in foster homes. He had no living relatives that he knew of"

"Right. That's what I was told. It seems that -" Sebastian glared at Aphasia. Her tears were now accompanied by sobs growing increasingly loud. Aphasia raised her head and looked at her stepsister. Her eyes were pleading. Pleading for what, Mercedes didn't know. Forgiveness? or to prove her 'fairness' by doing what Aphasia wanted?

"Aphasia" she said quietly, but firmly. "I want you to deliver the envelope of papers on the kitchen table to Dr Edward's office. I know you have no idea where I work, but the address is on the envelope. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Mercedes. Of course you do, but when I get back, you and I must talk. And this time you have to listen to so you'll understand -"

"No!" Mercedes said firmly. "Aphasia, _this_ time I am _not going_ to forgive you. Now get the extra keys, take my car and leave"

Aphasia had the self-righteous look of someone who had been falsely accused of a crime, but she did what Mercedes told her to. When she was out of the house, Sebastian said, "If you want to prosecute, I'll bear all the financial responsibility. I feel really stupid about this"

"It's not your fault, Mr Smythe," Mercedes said in dismissal, and he told her to call him Sebastian. She glanced down and at the forged signature on the paper on her lap. With this as an evidence, she knew she could prosecute, but she also knew it wasn't in her nature to do so.

"Mercedes," Sebastian said as he looked at her, "I have a lot to tell you, explain to you and even more to make up to you. Mercedes, I mean Aphasia - was going to leave with me today"

"I see" Mercedes said, and for the first time she noticed her own luggage piled in a corner. Her tone told what she thought of the liaison.

"It's not like that," Sebastian said. "My wife and I live on Nantucket, and in about an hour I have to leave to board a friend's plane and return home. Aphasia was to go back with me, but I can assure you that it was purely business"

Mercedes wasn't understanding anything. "But what about the house? Why are you trying to buy it?"

"_This_ house?" He glanced around it. "No offense, but -" He broke off when he realized how badly he was explaining things. "Your stepsister wasn't trying to steal _this_ house from you. I'm the executor of the will of the late John Figgins and he left his house on Nantucket to _you_"

This news shocked Mercedes that she was barely able to reply.

"I don't know any John Figgins"

"I know" Sebastian tapped his briefcase. "It's all in here, and I sent copies of the documents to your stepsister. It will take some time for you to read them all. And..." He let out his breath.

"There's something else you should know" He paused for a moment. "Mercedes and I" Sebastian said, "I mean, Aphasia and I have been corresponding, but she's also been writing to a cousin of mine. She said she was a physical therapist and since he -,"

"Tore all four ligaments of his right knee while skiing," Mercedes said as puzzle pieces began to fall into place. "Aphasia grilled me about how to rehabilitate that specific injury"

"Uh...yeah...well..." Sebastian said "How do I say this? She gave permission for the old workshop on your property to be equipped as a gym" He hesitated. "And she invited my injured cousin to move into the downstairs living room of your house. She was to have the upstairs to herself. The plan was that her job for the next few months would be to get Sam back on his feet" His eyes widened. "If this, uh ... exchange hadn't been found out, how could she have done your job?"

"I have no idea" Mercedes said. "But then I never second-guess my stepsister" For a few moments she looked at him in silence as she tried to take in what he was saying. The first thing was to clear her mind or else anger would take over. As far as she could tell, right now she had two choices. She could stay here, start a job that was stable but offered little in the way of advancement, and live in her childhood home. But that would mean that she'd have to deal with Aphasia' never-ending whining about the injustices of her life - all of which could be solved if Mercedes just gave more, did more, cared more for her stepsister.

Or, Mercedes thought, she could go to Nantucket and ... she didn't know what was waiting there fore her and right now that sounded heavenly.

She took a breath. "Are you saying that I have a house and a job waiting for me on the beautiful island of Nantucket?"

Sebastian smiled at her tone. She sounded like she was on the receiving end of a magic wish. Considering what he'd just seen of her stepsister, that's what she was being offered. "If you want them, that is. You could leave with me now, or come later. Or I could sell the house for you and send you the proceeds. It's your choice. I'll help you, whatever you want to do. I certainly owe you"

For the first time since she'd come home, Mercedes smiled. "Can I have twenty minutes to pack?"

Sebastian grinned. "I'll call the pilot, delay the flight, and you can have thirty"

Mercedes went to her luggage, which Aphasia had filled with her own clothes, emptied the contents onto the floor, and pulled out her things that her stepsister had 'borrowed'. She looked at Sebastian.

"If Aphasia wanted to do this, that means your cousin Sam must be either gorgeous or rich - or both"

Sebastian shrugged. "I don't know about gorgeous. He's short and stocky, just a kid, really, but his stepmother is the writer, Mary Phillips"

Mercedes nodded. "Rich. I thought so. I'll be ready in 25 minutes"


	2. Chapter 2

This story belongs to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

Even the sight of the private jet she was to take to the island of Nantucket didn't cheer Mercedes up. The interior was tan leather and dark wood, beautifully elegant, and she and Sebastian were the only passengers. She hoped that the trip would distract her from her thoughts. Before a few hours ago she would have sworn that her stepsister was incapable of doing something so treacherous, as well as illegal. The forged passport, the planned meeting with the famous architect, and the contract signed in an imitation of Mercedes's handwriting all ran through her mind.

On the way to the airport she'd asked Sebastian how he'd first contacted her, and he said he'd sent an overnight package. Mercedes's guess was that Aphasia accepted delivery, opened the envelope, read the contents, and decided to take what wasn't hers.

Mercedes thought about what would have happened if she hadn't returned home unexpectedly. Would she have come home from work to find an empty house and a note from her stepsister saying she'd decided to leave town? How long would it have taken her to find out about her stolen inheritance?

When they were on the plane, Sebastian made sure she was belted into a seat, the thick folder of papers on her lap and a glass of champagne beside her. As soon as they were aloft, he stepped away to make some calls, and Mercedes started reading about why she'd been left property by a stranger. It seemed that she had an ancestor, Michael Jones, who had been married to Miranda Figgins, whose family— including her sister, Mercedes —originally owned the house. At the sight of her own name, her interest was piqued. Was this her ancestor? But, no, poor Miranda and her sister had died before either of them had children. Michael Jones had returned to Boston, remarried, and had one son. Mercedes was descended from him. John, the man who'd willed the house to Mercedes, was descended from the Figgins side. He had no immediate family so he'd left everything to Miss Mercedes Lauren Jones.

John had composed a genealogy chart that traced Michael down to Mercedes.

She unfolded the long paper and read the names and dates. There was her mother's death when Mercedes was four, and her father's remarriage when she was eleven. It ended with the death of her father and Roz —Aphasia's mother—in a car accident when Mercedes was in her second year of college and Aphasia was still in high school.

Sebastian returned to his seat. "Do you understand about the inheritance?"

"I think so," Mercedes answered. "But I'm not a blood relative of John Figgins."

"I know," Sebastian said, "but on Nantucket we take relationships—however tenuous—seriously. And by the way, John left his house to you specifically, not to your father. No matter what your stepsister claims, she has no right to it. I was sincere when I said that if you want to take legal action for her attempted theft, I'll pay all costs." He took a breath. "I'm especially sorry that I helped put a patient in the house without your actual permission. Aphasia had given her permission in your name, of course, but now I know she isn't you. If you want me to send him away, just let me know. I'll make a call and he won't be there when we land."

"Thank you," Mercedes said.

She looked down at the folder. In the back were some medical notes about her patient, Samuel James Evans, nicknamed Sam, but they were brief and not very informative. But then Mercedes had heard everything before when Aphasia was quizzing her about her injured friend. Mercedes didn't want to imagine what would have happened to the man without proper care.

Mostly the papers were about the excellent financial terms being offered to her for rehabilitating this one young man. She'd be able to make her mortgage payments on the house her father had left her outside Boston as well as put food on the table in Nantucket.

When she glanced up at Sebastian, he seemed to be hard at work, either with the papers or tapping out messages on his phone. At one point he said, "My wife, Quinn, says hi and that she very much wants to meet you."

"Me too," Mercedes said, and wondered what his wife was like. He was famous, so he probably had married some elegant blonde who spent all his money maintaining her beauty.

It was at lunch—perfectly cooked chicken and salad served by a young woman attendant—that she asked Sebastian who owned the jet they were on. When he said "Sam's family," Mercedes nodded. It looked like her patient was indeed some rich kid. He'd gone skiing, probably in some exotic locale, and torn his knee. Since his family could afford anything on earth, he was being given his own private therapist. Sebastian had told her that his family had even put in a private gym for the rehabilitation work. No being one of many for him!

"What's this guy like?" she asked. "I mean his personality."

Sebastian shrugged. "He's a distant cousin of mine, but I don't really know him.

I've dealt with his father. I only saw the boy from a distance. He seems to always be surrounded by his family."

Mercedes nodded and thought, Rich and spoiled. Everything always handed to him.

"There's still time to call," Sebastian said.

"I think I'll give it a try and see how it works out."

They talked about the physical therapist job Mercedes was due to start at a small local hospital, and she told Sebastian that she'd call and turn it down. Since they had a waiting list, she didn't feel guilty about it. He said he'd have his super-efficient secretary take care of it for her, and she thanked him.

"You're taking all of this very well," Sebastian said. "With great sportsmanship."

She smiled at the compliment. A lifetime with her stepmother and Aphasia had taught Mercedes how to hide her emotions.

* * *

When they landed, in spite of her bravado, Mercedes began to feel nervous about what was coming. While it was exciting to think of the adventure before her, it was also terrifying. At twenty-six years old, she'd lived in one house all her life, had gone to college nearby, and had been about to accept a job that was close to her home. She was leaving behind people she'd known since she was born—and that included Mike. She reminded herself that it was her choice whether or not this was permanent.

In the little Nantucket airport, she stood to one side and waited for Sebastian to finish talking to people. Whereas the experience of flying on a private jet was awe-inspiring to her, it didn't seem to be unusual on the island. In fact, three other privately owned jets had arrived at nearly the same time, and Sebastian and Mercedes's flight had needed to wait for permission to land. Sebastian was talking to passengers from the other planes, to the baggage handlers, to the pilots, and to a man who seemed to be the manager of the airport. As far as Mercedes could tell, he knew every person within sight. This was certainly different from Boston!

Abruptly, Sebastian turned from them and walked quickly to Mercedes. "Come on, let's go. A tourist plane is landing." He sounded as though a tsunami was about to hit. He put his hand at her lower back and ushered her out of the airport into bright sunshine and the clean, salty air of Nantucket.

It wasn't until they were in Sebastian's truck that reality began to hit Mercedes. The vehicle was old and beat-up, and something about it seemed real. The world of the leather-upholstered BMW Sebastian drove and the private jet was too foreign to her to allow her to think clearly. But now she was grasping the truth of all of it.

She was on her way to a house she'd never seen but that belonged to her. And for the time being, she was going to be living with a young man she had never met.

As they drove from the airport to the downtown area, Mercedes marveled at the houses they passed. They were nearly all clad in untreated wooden shingles that had turned a beautiful, misty gray. It was almost as though she were traveling back in time, to when Nantucket was known for its whaling. It wouldn't have surprised her to see men in jackboots carrying harpoons over their shoulders.

Sebastian drove down a frighteningly narrow lane and stopped in front of a small two-story house with a pretty blue door. The house had pink roses growing up a trellis and lushly green bushes along the front. "This is it?"

"Yes," Sebastian said as he opened the truck door for her. "You like it?"

"It's like a fairy tale."

Sebastian shrugged. "The roof is good and I had the windows repaired. Later I want to check some foundation cracks."

Mercedes smiled at him. "Spoken like an architect."

He opened the front door for her. "You think I'm bad, wait until you meet my wife."

* * *

As she stepped inside a little entryway with a staircase in front of her, she didn't reply. The house was beautiful! It had a feeling of age and memory and coziness that she'd never felt before. "This is mine?" she whispered.

"It is." He was pleased by her reaction. "Why don't you have a look around while I find Sam?"

Eyes wide, Mercedes only nodded in agreement. As he went through the door to the right, she climbed the stairs. At the top was a small landing with open doors on opposite sides, both of them leading into large, furnished bedrooms, each with its own bathroom. Behind them was a little sitting room with a big window looking out to the back.

Since the house had belonged to a lifelong bachelor, she was surprised that it looked warm and inviting down to the smallest details. The wallpaper was of pretty woodland flowers, and the antique beds were draped in soft blues and greens, with big downy pillows against the headboards. The window seat had cushions of pale pink and peach, and tassels were on the curtain tiebacks.

She went to the window and looked down into the garden—and gasped.

Since the front of the house had very little land, she was shocked at what was in the back. There was a big square area, with branches leading off both ways to form a T-shape. There were several huge old trees, and flower beds were outlined. That the beds were nearly empty made her long to get her hands on them. Unbidden, the thought came to her that with Aphasia and her mother out of the picture, this garden would never be in danger of being bulldozed.

She wondered where she could find the workshop with the gym that Sebastian had spoken of. Pushing the window up, she looked out to see past the tall fence that surrounded the entire garden.

When she heard voices, she pulled back from the window. Walking together were two people. One was a small, older woman and facing her was a man on crutches—and he was close enough that she could see he was beautiful. Not like some model out of a magazine, but in the way of a man who turns and smiles at you and your knees go weak. He had blond hair, a stubble of whiskers over a strong jaw, and lips of such softness they made Mercedes dizzy.

When the man smiled at the little gray-haired woman, Mercedes could see lines at his eyes. She guessed that he was at least thirty. As for being short, he wasn't under six feet, and the "stocky" looked to be about one hundred pounds of pure muscle. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt that couldn't conceal the curves of the muscles underneath. Below that were sweatpants that draped over heavy quads, and she could see the outline of a big leg brace beneath. _That's who I'm to work on?_ She thought. But that couldn't be! Sebastian had said he was a "kid" and "short and stocky." But that certainly didn't describe this man!

Mercedes moved back to lean against the wall. To say that he was her type was an understatement. She'd always liked athletic, muscular men.

"This is a problem," she whispered. Her teachers, first in massage school and later in physical therapy, had repeated over and over the importance of professionalism. A therapist was never to get personally involved with a client.

She'd been warned that some of them would flirt and tease. With her massages and later in her many student sessions, she'd found out that was true. But it had been easy to laugh those guys off. She'd been so concentrated on her work that she'd thought of little else. Besides, she wasn't particularly attracted to any of them.

But this man, this Sam Evans, was different. She saw that her hands were shaking, and she could feel beads of perspiration on her upper lip.

"Control!" she said as she pushed away from the wall. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then went through a bedroom to get to the stairs.

At the bottom were two beautiful old doors. One was locked, but the other one led into the living room. The ceiling was fairly low, with great overhead beams that spoke of the age of the house and added to the calm, peaceful feeling of it. A wide, deep fireplace was along the wall, with pretty windows on the far side. The couch and two big chairs were soft and comfortable looking. They had been moved to the far end to make space for a narrow bed and a desk.

As Mercedes looked at the bed, she wondered how a man with shoulders like his could sleep on it. Did his feet and arms hang over the sides? The thought almost made her giggle.

On impulse, she went to the desk. It was old and scarred from many years of use. On top of it were a few neatly stacked paperbacks—murder mysteries written by men—and a big leather date book with a matching pencil holder.

Mercedes sat down on the little wooden chair, and after a quick glance about the empty room to make sure she was alone, she opened the date book.

What she saw made her gasp. Inside were large, glossy photographs of

Aphasia. On top was one of those professional-looking head shots. Aphasia just out of the shower was beautiful, but fully made up, her hair swept to one side, a seductive little smile on her perfect lips, she was a stunner.

Beneath that were composites of other shots. There was Aphasia riding in a convertible, her hair tousled, her face turned up to the sun. It looked as though it had been taken on a movie set. Another one was of Aphasia in a red silk blouse, open to show her black bra, on what looked like a stage. The last picture was a full-length shot of Aphasia in a bikini. All five feet eleven of her, not an ounce of fat anywhere, long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and looking like the black Barbie doll. Every man's dream.

Mercedes leaned back in the chair, feeling like she'd just deflated.

In all the turmoil of what was turning into a very long day, it hadn't registered with her when Sebastian said that Aphasia had exchanged emails with the prospective client. But then Mercedes's mind had been reeling from the news that her stepsister had faked her passport and tried to steal a house.

Mercedes held up the bikini shot. She'd never been able to understand how

Aphasia and her mother could live on a diet of greasy burgers, fries, and cola and never gain weight. After they'd come into her life, Mercedes went from her grandparents' fresh vegetable diet to endless carry-out and she'd begun to pack on the pounds. In school, playing soccer had kept most of the weight off, but after her father and stepmother died, Mercedes had the job of supporting Aphasia.

She didn't have time to cook. It had been work and nothing else. Coming home late at night and eating Big Macs and drinking big colas had left her with an extra twenty-five pounds. Add that to the fact that she was only five foot two and . . .

She didn't want to think of a physical comparison between her and Aphasia.

She'd lived with it for too many years. "Both of these girls are your daughters?" people would ask her father. Tall, willowy Aphasia and short, childishly round

Mercedes the product of the same parents? Not possible!

One time Roz had answered the question by saying, "But Mercedes is real smart."

Mercedes knew Roz had meant well, but it still hurt. In her family, Mercedes was the smart, responsible one who always did the sane, sensible thing, while Aphasia was the pretty one who always screwed up and was always forgiven. "Mercedes, you need to help Aphasia" was something she'd heard on a daily basis. Mercedes stood up and carefully put the photos back inside the book. That's what she got for snooping!

She put the chair back under the desk and went into the kitchen—and the charm of it helped to clear her mind. How her grandparents would have loved the old-fashioned appearance of it! The sink was huge, as were the gas stove and the refrigerator. In the center was a square table that looked as old as the house, and it was in front of yet another fireplace.

Two of the doors leading out of the kitchen were locked, but a third one led to a pretty little glassed-in porch that was full of white wicker with pink and green cushions. There was a piece of white linen in an embroidery hoop and she picked it up. It had a design of two birds and half of it had been beautifully sewn. She wondered if the late John Figgins had done it.

When she heard the click of a door, then two male voices, she froze in place.

One was Sebastian's and the other was a deep, rich rumble that made Mercedes's breath catch in her throat.

Damnation! she thought. This guy is expecting Aphasia and he's going to be deeply disappointed. Have some sympathy for him.

* * *

"Mercedes?" Sebastian called. "Are you here?"

With her shoulders back, she walked into the kitchen and saw him. Heaven help her, but he was even better looking close up. Worse, there seemed to be an energy around him that was like some powerful magnet pulling her to him. Part of her wanted to leap the distance between them and lose herself inside his big, strong arms.

But years of practice at hiding her true feelings kept Mercedes glued in place, her expression pleasant but neutral.

"This is—" Sebastian began, but Sam cut him off.

"You're Mercedes?" Sam asked, his eyes wide. "But you're not—" He broke off to look her up and down in a way that every woman hopes some gorgeous man will look at her. Not in that lecherous way that can make a woman feel exposed and vulnerable, but in a way that made her feel beautiful and so very, very desirable. Sam grasped the side of the sink, as though if he didn't support himself he'd fall down. "I thought someone else was coming, but you . . . You're . . ." He didn't seem able to say any more. When he leaned against the cabinet, his crutches fell backward, and Sebastian caught them.

Mercedes straightened her shoulders. It looked like to him, one female was as good as another. If he couldn't have the divine Aphasia, he'd take this one.

But Mercedes had too many years of guys trying to get near her so they could be close to Aphasia. All she knew for sure was that this had to stop now!

She took a step toward him and when he smiled broader, she frowned deeply.

"Look, Mr. Evans—at least I assume that's who you are—I don't know what you're thinking about me, but it's wrong. You're here in my house so I can help you recover and that's all. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, his eyes widening even farther.

She took a step closer to him, her finger pointed at his chest. "If you ever make an advance toward me that is the least bit unprofessional, you're out of here. Do you understand?"

Sam was blinking at her as he nodded.

"Professional!" She tapped her finger on his very hard chest. "Touch me and you leave. Got it?"

When he said "Yes," Mercedes could feel his breath on her face. He smelled of man. Abruptly, she took a step back, then walked all the way around the table, around both men, and paused at the back door. She glared at Sebastian. "Short, stocky kid, huh?" She went outside, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sebastian was the first to speak. "Now I'm going to be in the doghouse. What the hell were you thinking, coming on to her like that?" he half shouted. "This isn't going to work! If you knew what that girl has been through . . ." He glared at Sam. "That sister of hers—with my help—tried to steal this house from her."

Sam hobbled over to a chair and sat down. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"If you mean the stepsister, no, I don't think she is. To tell you the truth, I didn't like her from the moment I saw her. She's too much like the girls I used to date."

"Who is the stepsister?" Sam's puzzlement showed on his face.

"The brunette," Sebastian said, sounding like Sam had no brain. "The photo on the passport, remember? The one who said she was Mercedes."

"Oh," Sam said. "Her. I like this one better. She's got beautiful eyes, and she is curvy, isn't she?"

Sebastian groaned. "Deliver me from the days of youth. What I want to know is if it's safe to leave you here with her. She's in this mess because of me and I plan to look out for her." There was no smile on Sam's face. "Are you asking me if I'll take what she doesn't want to give?"

Sebastian was taller and older than Sam, but the younger man is more muscular. Sebastian didn't back down. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm asking."

Sam's face softened. "It looks like there will be two of us protecting her. I apologize to you now and I will apologize to her for my behavior. It's just that I wasn't expecting . . . her. Tall skinny brunette aren't appealing to me, but this one I like."

Sebastian grimaced. "I'm going home to my wife. The next time I talk to Mercedes she'd better tell me that you've treated her well or I'll call your dad to bring a cattle truck to haul you away."

"Spoken like a true Smythe," Sam said, his eyes laughing. "Did you really tell her I'm a kid?"

"You are to me."

Sam was still smiling. "Go on. You can leave. She's safe with me. She stands up for herself well, doesn't she?"

Sebastian had the idea that if he remained there he might have to listen to hours of whatever this young man was feeling, which he had no doubt was nothing but lust. "I'll be back in an hour and I'll ask Mercedes whether or not you can stay here.

If she even hints that you've come on to her, you're moving into my house."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, his eyes sparkling.


	3. Chapter 3

This story belongs to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

As soon as Mercedes was outside, she realized that her anger was more about what her stepsister had tried to do than about the young man who needed her help.

Her anger had increased when she realized she was attracted to a man who had hidden away photos of Aphasia.

Before her was a large grassy area crisscrossed by old brick pathways. There were high walls on each side and what looked to be beds for plants. The weeds had been cut, so someone was taking care of the garden, but it still had a barren look to it. There were a few scraggly bushes, but not much else.

She walked to the end of the wall and saw a long, narrow strip of land that ran perpendicular. It too was walled. At one end was a big red gate, but at the other end of the garden was a building with a vine-covered arbor attached to one side.

She went down the old brick path to the small building. The door was open, and inside was a lot of shiny new gym equipment. When Aphasia had asked about rehabilitating an injury such as Sam had, Mercedes had been flattered. She'd been pleased to make a list of necessary equipment. Inside the little building Mercedes found everything she had put on the list. Machines and free weights were in the center, and the walls were hung with rubber tubes and yoga equipment. When she went out the side door to the arbor, she saw a seating area and a lean-to that housed the massage table she would need. Overhead, grape vines had pretty, pale leaves that were beginning to unfurl. Massages under the arbor would be perfect.

When she heard a cough to her left, she knew the man was letting her know of his approach.

He stopped just under the edge of the arbor and leaned heavily on his crutches. "I apologize for my behavior," he said. "I'm very sorry."

"And I for mine," she answered. "It's been a tough day and I took my anger out on you. Why don't you take your clothes off and let's start over?"

Sam lifted his eyebrows high. Mercedes's mind was so much on all that had happened that it took a moment to realize what she'd said. "I meant for a massage. To begin work on your knee."

She could feel her cheeks feeling hot.

"Darn!" he said with such feeling that Mercedes couldn't help but laugh, and he joined her. But he didn't begin to disrobe. Instead, he made his way to a chair and sat down heavily. "That's better." He smiled at her as she took the other seat. "I would like to start over. I'm Samuel, generally called Sam." He held out his hand across the little table separating them.

"I'm Mercedes Jones"

When she shook his hand, his eyes seemed to be offering only friendship, and she was glad of it.

Leaning back in their chairs, they looked out at the garden.

"Isn't Mercedes the name of one of the original owners of the house?" he asked.

"Yes. My father had only a small box of papers about his family. He didn't talk about them, but my mother found them in the attic of the house I grew up in. She saw the name Mercedes and gave it to me."

"And your mother's name was Roz, right?"

"No. She was Aphasia's mother," Mercedes said tightly.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I'm afraid I'm a bit confused about it all. I don't know if Sebastian told you, but I exchanged some emails with a woman I thought was you. She said her mother was named Roz and that Roz had died when Mercedes—or Aphasia, I guess—was four."

"Part of that's correct. My mother died when I was four, but her name was Jacinta."

"My biological mother died when I was a baby," Sam said softly.

We have that in common, Mercedes thought but didn't say, and for a few minutes the air was heavy between them. Shared tragedy did not make for happy conversation, she thought, and wanted to change the subject. "So where does that gate at the end lead?"

"I have no idea. I just got here last night and I slept late this morning. When I got up, I looked around a bit, then came out here to see the gym. I was just returning when Sebastian found me."

"But I saw you with an older woman. You looked like friends."

"That was Terry and we'd just met. She lives in the BB next door, so the gate probably leads there. Her son and daughter-in-law run the place, but I think she visits here often."

"Maybe she was a friend of Mr. Figgins and misses him."

"Could be, but she didn't say so. Tell me exactly what your stepsister did." "No," Hallie said. "I'd rather not go into that. I really would like to have a look at your knee. And from the way you're holding your shoulders, I think you're carrying a lot of tension. I'd like for you to get on the table and let me see what's going on with your body."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm hungry and you must be starving. Did Smythe feed you?"

"We ate on the plane." Mercedes watched as he awkwardly stood up. It looked like she wasn't going to get him on the table today. His leg was encased in the heavy brace and she knew that the slightest movement of his knee without it would cause him intense pain.

"Let me help you," she said.

"Gladly," he answered. He stood on one foot while she got the crutches and helped him put them under his arms, and they began to walk back to the house.

"So tell me about your injury."

"Skiing. Being stupid. Nothing unique." He paused. "It's going to take me a while to remember all the things I told Aphasia and that you don't know. My aunt Holly is getting married here on Nantucket soon and Terry was telling me that my family has booked all the rooms of the BB for that week." He stopped on the walkway. "I have a lot of relatives and they'll be all over this place. Hordes of them. Like fire ants covering their territory." He looked at her. "If that idea horrifies you, let me know now and I'll keep them out."

"I don't think it will bother me, but I've never had a large family so I don't know for sure."

"Okay, but when they get here, if at any time they're too much for you, tell me and I'll send them away." Sam looked around at the garden. In front of them was an enormous oak tree with an old bench under it. "What are you going to do with this place?"

"I haven't had time to think about it. When I woke up this morning my only concern was getting some papers to my boss before he left for the weekend. It was my last assignment for him. Next week I was supposed to start a new job. Anyway, when the papers weren't in my bag, I had to go back home to get them. Minutes later I was being told I owned a house on Nantucket and soon after that I was on a private jet." She looked up at him. "Which I believe is owned by your family."

"True," he said, "but not by me. My dad believes kids should pay their own way."

Mercedes knew he meant to sound like an average guy, but not many people had their own private physical therapist. And from the healthy look of him, almost anyone could have helped him. His injury wasn't unusual, and certainly not life threatening. She could see no reason for him to be isolated with a therapist. He could have stayed at home with his family and been driven to an hour-long session five times a week and he would have done well. "Why do you want to be here?" she asked. "Rehabilitation of your knee could be done anywhere. You don't have to—"

"Oh, look, Sebastian has already come to check on me. If you don't give me a good report, he's threatened to beat me up."

"I'd settle for lifting you onto the massage table," Mercedes said and went forward to greet Sebastian and reassure him that Sam Evans had been a perfect gentleman.

Sebastian listened, glared in warning at Sam—who smiled back at him—then left, and they went into the kitchen.

Mercedes opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. It was packed full of containers of food, all carefully labeled. Fruit and salad greens were in the crisper, and the freezer was also full.

"Who did this?"

"My mother sent someone to fill it."

"I thought your mother was . . . gone."

"Stepmom, then," he said. "But she's always been my mother, so . . ."

Trailing off, he saw the weariness in her eyes. He led her to the old kitchen table.

"You've done enough today, so you sit and I'll microwave us a meal."

"But it's—"

"Your house and you're the boss? You can claim all the power tomorrow, but tonight I'll take care of you. What food do you like?"

"Obviously, anything." She was referring to the extra pounds she had on her.

Her plan had been that she would start a regular exercise program as soon as she was in her new job.

"What's obvious is that every ounce has gone to exactly the right places." He gave her such a warm look that Mercedes almost blushed. "Sorry, please don't tell Sebastian on me."

Mercedes searched for another point of conversation. "Sebastian told me your mother is the mystery writer Mary Phillips."

"She is. She and my widower dad married when my brother Stevie and I were just kids." It wasn't easy for him with the crutches, but Sam was managing to get packages out of the fridge and carry them to the counter by the sink. He was beginning to like this woman. Yes, he was very physically attracted to her, but there was more than that. How many people would unexpectedly inherit a house in one day yet still put her patient first? As far as he knew, she hadn't even looked at all the rooms. Instead, his welfare seemed to have been her first thought.

"What was it like, growing up with someone so famous?"

Sam smiled. "Fame has never meant much to Mom. She writes because she likes doing it. When we were kids she used to have my brother and me act out scenes of her books so she could see how they'd work. Stevie and I never thought anything about it until one day when we were in the third grade and some candy went missing. At recess we set up an interrogation room and asked some hard questions. That ended up with three kids crying in the principal's office. And later, little Anita Hopkins stepped up onto a pile of books and gave me a bloody nose."

"You're kidding!"

"I'm not. I was in love with her until I entered high school."

Mercedes smiled. "How much trouble did you get into?"

"After the dust settled, everyone agreed it was all Mom's fault. Dad was mad at her for an entire twenty-four hours. That may have been a record."

"So you had to stop acting out police procedurals?"

"Not at all," Sam said. "Stevie and I just learned to keep our mouths shut."

Mercedes laughed hard. "I can see it all. She sounds like fun."

"She is. Dad is the disciplinarian, but Mom believes childhood should be a joy and that's how she made it."

"How nice for you," Mercedes said, with feeling in her voice.

Sam put a plate of sliced roast beef, two warmed vegetables, and salad in front of her. "What about you? What was your childhood like?"

"My dad sold pharmaceuticals and he traveled constantly. After my mother died, her parents moved in with us and Dad traveled even more."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "You must have missed him a great deal."

"No, actually, we didn't. My grandparents were wonderful. We had a huge backyard and Grams and Gramps were fabulous gardeners. We grew all our own vegetables and most of the fruit. I—" She broke off, seeming to be embarrassed.

"You what?" He put his plate on the table and sat down across from her.

"I was the center of their lives. What I did, who I liked and didn't like, girlfriend fights, boys—they wanted to hear about all of it. I had slumber parties and big birthday parties. And when Dad came home we treated him like visiting royalty. We were thrilled to see him arrive and breathed a sigh of relief when he left." She paused. "I think maybe I was the happiest child on earth. But they moved to Florida a year after Dad married Roz."

"Do you see them often now?"

"They passed away before my dad died, within months of each other. I still miss them." She took a bite of green beans. "These are good. Where did your mom get all this?""She's no cook, but she's great at finding where good food is sold. So where did your stepsister come in?"

Mercedes waved her fork about. "That was later. Dad married Roz when I was eleven, and she and her daughter moved into the house. We need to start on your treatment first thing tomorrow."

"All right," Sam said. He could tell that she didn't want to talk about her life after her stepmother's arrival. "What exactly are you planning to do to me?"

"I have to see your injury first." The shirt he had on was big and concealing, but it couldn't hide the muscle underneath. "You look like you know how to pick up a dumbbell."

"Oh, yeah. That's from Dad and his brother. When they were young they competed in power-lifting matches."

"Did you compete?"

"Never had the time," he said.

"What took up your time?" She saw his face change, as though he was about to tell her something but decided not to.

"Would you like some cheesecake?" He had eaten three helpings of everything.

Mercedes looked away to hide her expression. Rich kid, she thought. He didn't want to tell her that his time was taken up by skiing and other pleasures. So be it, she thought. She wouldn't push him to tell what he didn't want to.

She moved her nearly empty plate away and stood up. "I'm worn out and I think I'll go to my room. Will you be all right?"

"I'm fine. I swear that I can bathe and dress myself."

There was a bit of tension in his voice, but she ignored it. She was too tired to wonder what was bothering him. She reached for her plate to take it to the sink, but he took it from her.

"I'll clean up, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"And I'll look at your leg." She covered her yawn. "Mmmm. Sorry. See you in the morning." The house was so new to her that she had to think about where the stairs were. She had to go through the living room and past Sam's narrow bed to get to the front stairs.

At the top she looked right and left. Each doorway led to a bedroom. She wished that when she first saw the rooms she had chosen which was to be hers.

She stepped left, but it was almost as though she heard two female voices say,

_"No."_

She went to the right and felt a sense of calm, as though the old house was smiling at her. There was a pretty chorus of voices who whispered, "_Mercedes_."

Maybe she should have been frightened, but it was almost as though she was being welcomed. Smiling, she thought how she needed to undress, take a shower, and find her nightclothes in her suitcase. For that matter, she needed to find her luggage.

It was still daylight out, but between the eventful day and overwhelming emotion, she was worn out. The big bed beckoned and she threw back the covers to expose crisp white sheets. The bed was high off the floor and she had to throw her leg up to get on it. She told herself that she was just going to test the mattress. Were the pillows any good?

She put her head down and was instantly asleep.

Sam finished putting the kitchen back in order and had just sat down in the chair at his desk when his cell buzzed.

"I've been trying to get you all day!" his brother said. "Can't you carry the damned phone with you?"

"I came here to get away," Sam said, unperturbed by his brother's anger.

"From them, but not from me," Stevie said and when Sam was silent, he backed down. "All right, do whatever you want. What's she like? Other than too beautiful to be real?"

"It's not the girl you saw in those photos," Sam said. "The brunette is the stepsister. Sebastian didn't tell me the details, but she pulled a con and tried to steal the house."

"That's illegal," Stevie said, his voice stern.

"Yeah, Detective Chief Inspector, it is. Why don't you drive down to Boston and find out the truth of it all?"

"I can't now. I'm dealing with a string of armed robberies and what may turn out to be a homicide case. What I want to know is how you are."

"Fine."

"Don't give me that crap! How are you?!"

Sam took a breath. "Good. I still don't like how you got me here, but . . . it's okay."

"Ah," Stevie said.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that Sebastian called Aunt Holly who called Mom who called me. Seems you made a fool of yourself over your physical therapist."

Sam rolled his eyes. "And here I thought I got away from the family hovering over me. Yeah, when I first saw her, I did have a moment of weakness.

She's pretty and curvy and . . . I don't know. There's something about her that I like. She's smart and— Stop laughing!"

"I'm not," Stevie said. "Well, maybe I am, but not in the way you think. I—"Sam cut him off. "She wants to start on my leg tomorrow."

Stevie lowered his voice. "How much are you going to let her know?"

"As little as I can get away with. She thinks I'm some rich playboy. I think she believes I jet around the world from one fun place to another."

"And you're going to let her keep thinking that, aren't you?"

"I'm going to encourage it," Sam said. "It'll be a relief not to have to deal with pity. I gotta go. I need sleep."

"Take your pills," Stevie said.

"I won't forget. Do me a favor, will you? Call Mom and tell her to back off for a few days. Tell her I'm all grown up and can feed myself. I'm worried she'll helicopter in baskets of groceries."

"Then you're planning on leaving the grounds to get food?" There was hope in Stevie's voice.

"Not yet!" Sam snapped. "And stay off my back about it! Understand?!"

"I hear you," Stevie said softly. "So go to bed and I'll deal with Mom. And

Sam . . . I, uh . . ."

"Yeah, me too," he said, then clicked off.

Mercedes awoke abruptly. The inside of her mouth was fuzzy and she had that swollen feeling of having slept in her clothes.

She turned on the bedside light and looked at her watch. It was just after two

A.M. She got up, went to the bathroom, and rinsed her mouth. The first thing she was going to do in daylight was find her bags and unpack them.

As she was walking toward the bed, she heard what sounded like a moan.

"Oh, great," she mumbled. "More evidence that I've inherited a haunted house.

Maybe I should give it to Aphasia. I'd like to see how they would deal with her!"

With a yawn, she started to unfasten her jeans so she wouldn't have to spend the rest of the night in them. But then she heard the sound again, only this time it was louder.

It's him, she thought and ran toward the stairs. By the time she got down to his room, she could hear him making noises, sounding as though he were trying to escape from someone. There was a nightlight, the kind used for children, on the desk and in front of it was an orange plastic pill bottle. From the time she could read she'd helped her father with the drugs he sold. By the time she was in high school, she was reading the brochures about the latest medicines and paraphrasing them for her dad so he could sell them.

When Mercedes read the prescription label, she knew it was a very strong sleep aid. If he'd taken two of these, a tractor could run over him and he wouldn't wake up. She looked at Sam on the bed. He was rolling his head from side to side and his body was beginning to move. The bed was narrow and he was big. All it would take was one toss to the side and he'd be on the floor. Even though he had on his leg brace, a hard impact could re-injure him.

She went to his head and began to massage his temples. "Ssssh. Be quiet. Everything is all right," she said softly, soothingly.

He calmed a bit, but the moment she took her hands away he began to turn in the bed.

"No, no," she said. "Don't do that."

When he kept moving, she went to his side and made an attempt to hold him on the bed. She had to plant her feet firmly on the floor and push against his chest with both her hands. It worked and he didn't fall out of bed. He rolled onto his back, and for a moment he was so calm that Mercedes moved toward the door.

But when a shout came, she ran back to him. His whole body was shaking, as though in fear, and he lifted his arms as if he were reaching out for someone.

"I'm here," Mercedes said. "You're safe." When she leaned toward him, he put his arms around her and pulled her down to him, holding her close.

It was an awkward position that nearly twisted Mercedes in half. She knew she wasn't strong enough to break his hold, and she doubted if she could wake him to make him let her go. Whatever was the basis of his nightmare, right now he needed comfort.

It wasn't easy to stretch out beside him on the little bed, but as soon as she did, he turned to his side and pulled her to him. He tucked her into his body as though she'd always been there, and he quieted instantly.

"So now I'm your teddy bear?" she said, her face against his chest.

But for all her sarcasm, it felt good to be held, even if the man doing it was sound asleep.

She could feel herself drifting off, but as she did, her mind began going over the events of the day. Seeing the contract Aphasia had signed and the passport she had redone had hurt more than she wanted to admit. A week earlier, Aphasia had asked Mercedes to stop by an office supply store after work to buy her some glue and a new pair of scissors. "They need to cut cleanly," Aphasia had said. "So no edges are showing." It seemed that Mercedes had helped her stepsister defraud her.

When Sam kissed the top of her head, Mercedes started crying. He might be asleep, but he seemed to sense that the woman he was holding needed help. His body quit twitching, and he was quiet and relaxed. It was almost as if he were waiting for her to tell him what was wrong.

"I didn't deserve it," Mercedes whispered. "I've never done anything bad to

Aphasia. She and her mother took over my life, but I stood for it. When Dad and Roz died, I had no time to grieve. I had to take care of Aphasia. I don't know how I did it, but I did. So why did she try to steal from me?"

Mercedes looked up at him, saw that his eyes were still closed, and put her head back down. "If I'd been told about this house, maybe I would have given her the one in Boston. That's what she wanted. She said it wasn't fair that I own two houses and she has none. I don't know what I would have done, but I certainly would like to have been given the choice."

Her tears were fading, even if the pain wasn't. "I don't know what to do now, either legally or ethically. Should I reward Aphasia by giving her a house? But I know that won't be enough for her." She looked up at him.

There was enough light that she could see his sleeping face. He looked so sweet, so calm. But then suddenly, he began to thrash about again. She could see movement under his eyelids, as though another nightmare was beginning.

"Oh, no, you don't!" she said. "You start rolling again and I'll be crushed. Be quiet! You're safe."

But Sam didn't quit moving, and when he threw his big leg over her hips, she pushed hard to get out from under him and stood up. As she looked down at him, she saw that he seemed to be gearing up for another round of thrashing.

Bending, she put her hands on the sides of his head. "You are safe! You hear me? There are no demons chasing you." His face was so near hers, his lips so very close, that she couldn't resist kissing him. It wasn't a kiss of passion, but one of reassurance. A kiss of friendship and understanding. Two people who had deep problems were sharing them.

The kiss lingered for a while, as though they were receiving strength and reassurance from each other. They deeply and truly needed each other.

When Mercedes pulled away and looked at him, Sam's face was calmer, more relaxed. Taking her hands away, she let him lean back on the pillow, and at last he seemed to sink down into a restful sleep.

She watched him for a few moments, then turned to go back upstairs. But she got only as far as the couch at the end of the room. What if he had another nightmare? He could fall off the bed and damage his torn knee.

Looking at the old couch, she sighed. Upstairs was a bed with crisp, clean sheets and a down comforter. The couch had nothing on it but one small pillow.

She hesitated, but with a sigh, she stretched out on the couch. If Sam again became restless, she'd hear him and would be able to keep him from falling.

_I'll settle him with sleeping kisses_, she thought, smiling as she began to fall asleep. As barren as the couch was, it felt better not to be alone in a strange house.


	4. Chapter 4

This story belongs to Jude Deveraux. I only borrowed it and put my OTP in it. Nothing is mine

"So you decided to get up, did you?" Sam said when Mercedes walked into the gym. He was teasing, but his words implied that she was someone who lolled about in the mornings. It was tempting to tell him the truth about her night of wrestling with him. At five she'd awakened on the couch, her body stiff, her teeth chattering from the cold, and made her way upstairs to her bedroom. She'd staggered to the bed and flopped down on it, awoke hours later, took a shower and washed her hair, then went downstairs. On the kitchen table was a lovely breakfast of boiled eggs, little apricot turnovers, sausages with bits of apple inside, and cut fruit. Sam must have just prepared it because the dark tea in the pretty ceramic pot was still hot.

But Mercedes didn't tell him about last night. Using kisses to calm him from a nightmare wasn't exactly professional behavior. "Thanks for breakfast," she said. He was straddling a bench and doing pull-downs. Her eyes widened at the amount of weight he was using.

He finished his set before speaking, then picked up a towel to wipe his face.

His thick shirt was soaked with sweat. "I'll tell Mom thanks for you."

"I want to see your leg."

"It's fine today. No need to go poking around." He gave her a smile of such promise that she was sure it had made many women forget their resolve.

Mercedes smiled back at him with the sweetest look she could manage. "Do you have your cell phone with you?"

"Sure. Want to check your emails?"

"No. I want to call Sebastian and tell him that you're not allowing me to treat you."

After a moment of hesitation, Sam laughed. "All right, you win. But we keep it to the leg."

She didn't know what he meant by that, but she went outside to get the big massage table and set it up. When Sam came out on his crutches, he was still wearing his heavy clothes.

"Everything off," she said as she began coating her hands and forearms in almond oil. "Or if you're modest, leave your undies on. I'll keep you covered."

He was frowning at her, as though trying to decide what to do.

She knew that people varied in their sense of modesty. Some people quickly stripped down to their skin while she was in the room; others wouldn't remove their shoes without absolute privacy. It looked like he was the latter version.

Excusing herself, she went into the gym for a few minutes.

When she returned, Sam was on the table, but he'd only partially undressed.

He still had on his heavy sweat clothes, but on the right side, he'd slipped out of the pants and rolled their leg to one side. Except for his brace, he was nude from waist to toes. But his left leg and the upper half of his body were completely covered by his heavy gym clothes. "This isn't what I meant," she said. "You need to—"

He didn't let her finish. "This is what you get," he said in a tone she'd not heard him use before. His usual manner was teasing, as though he were on the verge of laughter, but now he looked as though he were daring her to take what he was offering—and if she didn't, he'd leave.

Angering an injured client was not something she was going to do. "This will be all right," she said in a cheerful voice. "Want to lie back?"

He was leaning on his hands, his arms rigid behind him. "This works for me." That tone was still there.

Smiling, she began to unfasten the Velcro bindings of the big brace.

"Whatever you do, don't move. I want to see how your leg is healing and I'm going to do some gentle massage. Okay?"

He didn't answer, and his face seemed to be settling into a deeper frown.

His knee was very swollen, but worse, every one of the big muscles of his leg seemed to be tied into a knot. Mercedes had long ago learned that a person's body often told a different story from what could be seen on the outside. It looked like Sam's easygoing manner was hiding a great deal of stress.

"Will I pass?" His voice had an edge to it, as though he were challenging her.

She kept smiling. "I can't answer that until I get my hands on you." She picked up the bottle of oil. The thickness of his leg muscles meant they would take some work.

"You've seen my leg, so that's it," he said. "I'll do some leg extensions and we'll be done." He started to get off the table.

She put her hand on his chest. "You move that leg with the brace off and I really will call . . ." She narrowed her eyes. "I will call your mother." Sam blinked a few times, then the frown left and he genuinely smiled. "And she'll tell Dad. You do know how to terrify a man. All right. One leg and that's it."

"You are kindness personified."

Mercedes coated her hands in the oil, then set to work. She'd worked on a few bodybuilders and it took a lot to dig into their muscles, but Sam was the worst she'd ever encountered. There was so much tension in his body that his muscles were the consistency of hard rubber tires. As her fingers dug deep, she thought she might be hurting him, but she could feel him beginning to relax, and finally, he lay back on the table.

At his knee she moved the skin around gently, trying to get the blood and fluids to start to flow again. She attacked his thigh and calf, digging as deeply as she could manage.

It took over an hour on his leg before she felt that she'd done as much as she could. As she refastened the brace, she wished she could get at the rest of his body, but since he had left most of his clothes on, it was covered. He didn't move, just lay quietly on his back on the table, his eyes closed.

Tentatively, she went to his left foot. It was bare so maybe he'd allow her to work on it. When he didn't protest at her hands, she massaged pressure points in his feet, flexing his ankle back and forth. She thought he had fallen asleep, but when she slipped her hands under his sweatpants at the ankle, he immediately tensed and she withdrew.

She massaged his hands. He had beautiful fingers, long and strongly made.

From there she began on his head. The amount of tension he was holding in his neck was horrible to feel. There were lumps of lactic acid at the base of his trapezius muscles. She went over his head, feeling his short, blond hair. Her hands roamed over his face, massaging, caressing. Cheekbones, his nose, his lips. Her fingertips touched them all.

She kept remembering the kiss of early this morning. But from the way he'd greeted her, he didn't seem to remember any of it.

He had an extraordinarily beautiful body! As her hands slid over his skin, she remembered being held in his arms, kissing him.

Maybe she was losing herself more than she realized in the pleasure of touching him because when she put her hands on his shoulders, she started to move down his shirt and over his chest. But Sam caught her hands before she could pass his collarbone. He held on to her wrists for a moment, then released them. It looked like she wasn't to touch the areas covered by his clothing.

Embarrassed, Mercedes stood up straight. "Sorry," she murmured and stepped away from him. There was a water spigot nearby with a hose attached and she thought about turning it on. She would like to douse herself in icy water. Just hold the hose over her head and let it flow.

Behind her, Sam sat up on the table.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, forcing herself to smile but thinking, I need a boyfriend!

"I do," he said. "Thank you." He started to get off the table but then halted and looked at her.

It took Mercedes a few moments to realize that he was waiting for her to leave before he stepped down. Why? Because he was afraid that his movement would allow her to see more of his nude body? What an odd man, she thought as she walked into the garden.

When Sam was again fully covered, he joined her. They walked around together, speculating on how the garden had once looked. At the big oak tree, they found a little brass plaque that said,

_**In memory of my beautiful ladies,**_

_**Mercedes Figgins and Miranda Jones. John Figgins**_.

"Your namesake," Sam said.

As they sat down on the bench under the tree, Mercedes told what she'd learned: that she wasn't related to the Figgins family at all but to Michael through his second marriage. "It makes no sense that John Figgins would leave the house to me."

"Maybe he really was in love with women who died long ago and you're the closest person he could find," Sam said.

"Which would mean that John had no relatives of his own. But then . . ."

She shrugged. "My question is, did he decorate the upstairs for them?"

Since Sam hadn't seen the second floor, they went back to the house and up to the two bedrooms. It wasn't easy for him to go up the stairs on crutches, but he did it. Only when they were in the bedroom did Mercedes remember seeing her few pieces of luggage downstairs. Sam insisted on hauling them up the steep, narrow stairs, and that caused some hilarity. He kept pretending he was about to fall, so Mercedes got behind him and pushed on his lower back.

While she unpacked and put her toiletries in the bathroom, Sam looked around. "Very girly. You're right that these rooms were decorated for women."

He sat in her bedroom on a chair covered in blue and pink chintz and watched her.

"Whose bedroom was whose, do you think?"

Before she thought, she said, "This one belonged to Mercedes."

"How do you know that?"

There was no way she was going to tell him that she kind of, sort of, maybe, possibly heard two female voices telling her which bedroom to use.

"I like this one better, so I'm sure it belonged to the sister with my name."

"Makes sense to me." He looked over his shoulder into the sitting room. "I bet you can see the garden from that window." It was as though he momentarily forgot about his injured knee. Leaving his crutches leaning against the bureau, he made almost a leap across the little sitting room to the window seat.

"So help me, if you hurt your knee, I'll—"

He waited. "Come on, what's the threat now? You've used Sebastian and my mother. Who's next?"

As she sat on the opposite end of the seat, she gave him a little smile. "The next time I massage your head, I won't lean over you so very far."

After a quick look at Mercedes's ample breasts, Sam put his hand to his heart and fell back against the wall. "Bring me the hemlock. My life is over. I have nothing more to live for. Even the prospect of losing that soft but very firm, luscious treat will take away all that I have left in life. I will—"

Mercedes's face was getting hotter by the second. His very intimate description was too much! "Will you stop it? You're my client, not my—"

"Patience is what I have. I will wait forever if it means that I may—"

"Look!" Mercedes said loudly as she nodded toward the window.

"I can only see you. I can see no one else but—"

"Okay! I'll smash my entire chest up against you for head massages! Now will you look?"

With one more glance at Mercedes's bosom, he looked out the window. Terry was leaving the side of the house and walking quickly toward the red gate.

Sam pushed up the window and leaned out. "Terry!" he shouted in a voice so loud that the force of it nearly knocked Mercedes backward. She had an idea that he may have been heard in Boston.

Hearing it, the little woman halted and smiled up at them. "Sam? Is that you? I can't stay, but the Tea Ladies left something for the both of you. Is that

Mercedes with you?"

Mercedes was a bit startled at being called that, but then she leaned close to

Sam and put her head out the window. "It is me," she called down. "It's very nice to meet you. Stay and we'll come down and have something to eat."

"Thank you, dear, but no," Terry said, her hand up to shield her eyes. "I'm full now. At least for a few minutes." For some reason she seemed to find this statement highly amusing. "Maybe tomorrow. Kiss Sam for me." Turning away, she began to hurry toward the gate.

"Good idea," Sam said.

Mercedes realized that she was practically lying against him, his face close to hers.

"I think you should kiss Sam," he said in a low, seductive voice.

Ignoring his words, she moved back to the opposite side of the seat. "I thought you just met her, but she's sending you kisses?"

"What can I say? Women fall for me."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And do they manage to get your clothes off you?"

"Only if it's very, very dark."

Laughing, Mercedes stood up and got his crutches. "What did she mean that the Tea Ladies left us something? And who are they?"

"I have no idea. Maybe they work for the BB." When he took the crutches, he acted as though he'd forgotten how to use them. "I'm going to need help getting down the stairs."

"What if I remind you that the food is downstairs and you can't have it unless you get down there?"

"I think part of being a good physical therapist is making sure your patient is fed." He sounded serious.

"No, it's not. In fact, even the massages aren't part of it." Smiling, she was walking backward toward the staircase. "I learned that art form in totally different classes that I took before I became a physical therapist. Used massage sessions to pay for school. In fact, they were—"

She broke off because she tripped on a loose corner of the big floor rug and was about to fall. But in a lightning-fast move, Sam dropped his crutches and reached out to grab her. They went down together. He hit the floor hard, with

Mercedes on top of him, his braced leg to one side. Mercedes's head hit his chest almost as hard as his back slammed into the floor.

"Sam! Are you all right?"

He lay on the rug, utterly still, his eyes closed.

She clutched his head in her hands. "Stay here." Her voice was frantic. "I'll call an ambulance." She started to roll off him, but his arm held her tightly against him. "Let go! I have to—"

When she realized that he wasn't even near being unconscious, she lay where she was, her upper body on his wide chest. "Let me guess. High school football taught you how to take down your opponent." She saw the tiniest of smiles on his lips. "What were you? The entire defense team?"

His smile grew and she felt his stomach move in laughter.

"Let me up or I'll—" Since she couldn't think of anything to threaten him with, she put her elbows in the two spots on his chest where she knew she'd cause the most pain and pushed down.

"Owwww!" Sam yelped, his eyes flying open.

Mercedes rolled off him and stood up. "Can you get up by yourself or do I need to get a crane?"

"I think my back is broken," he said, smiling up at her.

"That's too bad. I guess I'll have to get scissors to cut your shirt off and have a look at your bare back."

Sam gave a sigh, rolled over, grabbed a crutch, and stood up.

"It's a miracle," Mercedes said and went down the stairs, Sam not far behind her.

Waiting for them on the kitchen table was an afternoon tea so lavish it would have pleased King Edward VII. There were two tiered stands with three pretty plates on each one, all of them loaded with food in miniature—two of each item.

One stand had savory dishes: sandwiches cut into shapes, miniature quiches, tiny pickled quail eggs, and dumplings tied up like little purses. The other stand held desserts: scones, tarts, pies the size of silver dollars, tiny bowls of creamy coconut pudding. From the look of it all, it was a smorgasbord of food from around the world.

There was also a steaming hot pot of tea, a jug of milk, a bowl of sugar cubes, and pretty cups and plates. To the side were glasses of champagne with raspberries in them.

"Beautiful," Mercedes said.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

They sat down at the table and Mercedes poured the strong black tea and added milk to their cups, while Sam filled their plates.

"How do you think Terry got all this here?" Mercedes asked. She was eating a dumpling filled with vegetables and chicken.

"Probably someone from the BB brought it over in one of those electric golf carts." He had just finished a little lobster roll. "Best lobster I've ever had! Wonder where they got it."

"This cheese is fabulous."

Sam smiled, his mouth full.

"I'd like to see some of Nantucket," Mercedes said as she bit into a cupcake that tasted of oranges. "Try this. It's really good." She'd meant for him to take the other cupcake off the plate, but he took the half she'd bitten into from her hand and ate it.

"Fuzzy navel," he said.

"What does that mean?"

"It's a drink of orange and peach juice and that's what it tastes like. My guess is that it's made with peach schnapps and if so, it's fairly lethal. Here, try it again." He bit into the second cupcake, then handed her the other half.

Mercedes hesitated, but there was a look of challenge in his eyes. Daringly, she bent and took the cake from his hand with her lips. "Mmmmm. Quite delicious."

Sam was smiling broadly. "It's named fuzzy for the peach and—"

"Navel for the orange. Now, as I was saying, I'd like to see some of the island. Sebastian drove through town and I saw some nice shops. Maybe you'd like to go too."

"No, thanks," Sam said. "I have enough trouble with these blasted crutches without tackling streets and sidewalks."

She'd already learned that half of what Sam said was teasing, so she played along. She mentioned beaches and a meal out. No, he didn't want to do that.

Drinks at sunset? No. A boat ride? He said he'd had enough of that with his Smythe relatives. "They live on the damned things. I like the earth." No matter what she came up with to try to entice him to go into town, he said no.

"I guess I'll have to go alone," she said as she picked up a piece of what looked to be poppy seed cake. For a tiny bit of a second, she saw something flash across his eyes, some emotion, but she wasn't sure what it was. If it weren't coming from such a strong, healthy young man, she would have thought she'd seen fear. But that was, of course, ridiculous.

Whatever it was, it was gone in an instant and Sam's handsome face was back to smiling. "What I want to know is where Terry came from," he said.

"You mean where she grew up?"

"No. Here. Twice now I've seen her walking out from the side of the house.

Yesterday when I woke up, I went looking for my brother with the intention of telling him what I thought about what he'd done to me."

"And what was that?"

Sam waved a sweet, sticky ball of rice around before popping it into his mouth. "It's a long story, but my point is that on the far side of this house are two big doors and they're locked. I thought maybe my brother was hiding in there so I used a bit of force to try to open them, but they didn't budge."

Mercedes licked coconut off her fingers. "Let me see if I get this straight. You woke up angry at your brother—for a reason that you won't tell me—and tried to batter down a couple of my doors to get to him? Possibly with the intention of murdering him?"

Sam nearly choked on a square made of carrots and honey but managed to recover himself and said, "Pretty much." His eyes were laughing. "I wonder if Terry has a key and what's—"

"In there?" Mercedes finished for him.

"My thoughts exactly. What would you say about searching for the key?

Whoever finds it gets to kiss the other one."

"And what does the loser get?" Mercedes asked.

"Two kisses?"

She laughed. "Go on and start searching. I'm going to clean this up and have it ready in case Terry returns for the dishes."

"I'll help," he said.

After they cleaned up the kitchen, they went out to the side of the house and inspected the doors, but as Sam had said, they were locked tight. He wanted to try again to use his considerable strength to open them, but Mercedes persuaded him not to. Inside the house, all the doors that led into the hidden room were also locked. They began to search for the key, but even though they looked through every drawer, under every piece of furniture, they didn't find any stray keys.

They did, however, find brochures and tickets dated from the 1970s to two years ago.

As they made a pile of what they found, they speculated about John Figgins.

He seemed to have been very interested in the history of Nantucket. Twice he'd won the annual Jeopardy-like Nantucket trivia contest.

What they saw made Mercedes and Sam say they were going to learn more about the island. But when Mercedes repeated her invitation to go exploring, Sam's face closed. He said that he'd be the researcher and she could do the footwork.

By ten Mercedes was yawning, but Sam looked wide awake, as though he never planned to go to sleep. She wanted to ask him about the medication he was taking, but she didn't. Instead, she bid him goodnight and went upstairs to bed.

Maybe some part of her mind was on alert because just as she'd done the night before, she awoke at two A.M. She lay there for a while, staring up at the silk rosette on the underside of the bed canopy, and listening. But the house seemed quiet.

She was just about to go back to sleep when she heard a faraway sound, something like a groan. If it hadn't been for what happened the night before, she wouldn't have paid any attention to it.

Without a second thought, she leaped out of the bed and ran down the dark stairs. She stubbed her toe on a table leg, but she kept going toward Sam.

The nightlight was on, but this time there was no pill bottle on the desk.

Sam was in the bed, rolling back and forth, making soft sounds of panic.

"I'm here," she whispered as she put her hands on the sides of his head. He calmed somewhat, but his legs were moving, his brace hitting the side of the bed.

Keeping her hands on his face, she stretched out beside him. As before, he drew her close. He settled for a while, but when he again started thrashing, she lifted her head up to his and kissed him. This kiss, their second one, had a bit more passion than the first one. When Mercedes felt herself moving her leg between his, she pushed away from him.

"Sleeping kisses are one thing," she said softly, "but no sleeping screws."

But the kiss did settle him and before Mercedes knew what happened, she fell asleep in his arms


	5. Chapter 5

This story belongs to Jude Deveraux. I only borrowed it and put my OTP in it

* * *

When Mercedes awoke the next morning, daylight was beginning to come through the window. She and Sam were spooned together on the narrow bed like they were one person. Peeling his arms from around her body was no easy feat. When she stood up, she had a crick in her neck and one in her lower back. The bed was too small for one person, much less a former football player and her. She tiptoed up the stairs to her own bedroom and took a shower. When she went back down, Sam was in the kitchen, his hair damp. As usual, he was covered in clothing from neck to ankles. Mercedes had on a sleeveless top, cutoff jeans, and sandals.  
"I think I'm going to go into town this morning," she said, avoiding his eyes, as the memory of last night was too clear in her mind. She needed some distance from him. On the other hand, exploring a new town on her own wasn't going to be a lot of fun.

"Want to go with me?"  
"No," he said, his voice firm, as though he didn't want to be questioned any more. He ran his hand across the back of his neck. She put a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.

"Are you all right?"  
"Just . . . dreams," he said as he picked up his cup of coffee. She sat down across from him. "What kind of dreams?"  
He hesitated, but then looked at her. His eyes were hot, intense.

"If you must know, they're about you."  
"Oh," Mercedes said and got up to refill a cup that was already full. "Hazards of working together," she mumbled. _Or sleeping together,_ she thought. All in all, it probably would be better if they spent some time apart. "Tell me again when your relatives will begin to arrive."  
"I'm not sure what day. If I know the munchkins, they'll come running as soon as the ferry docks."  
"And who are the munchkins?"  
"I have a brother and sister, twins, who are seven years old."  
"How wonderful!" Mercedes said. "What are their names? Tell me about them."  
The tension that had been caused by Sam's mention of his dreams was broken and they ate breakfast while he told of his family. The twins, Stacie and Sean, were going to be in the upcoming wedding and they were very excited about it."  
As Mercedes watched him talk of his family in such a loving way, she again wondered why he hadn't stayed with them for his therapy. Why go to Nantucket where he knew so few people? Why isolate himself with a stranger? Mercedes knew that if she had a loving family, nothing on earth would get her away from them. When she said she needed to change to go to town, Sam said he had another  
story to tell about the twins. She listened, then said she was going. But when Sam came up with yet another story, she realized he didn't want her to leave. _How flattering!_ she thought, but she still excused herself and went upstairs to change. She put on a pretty flowered dress with a matching cardigan and her pink sandals.

* * *

When she went downstairs, Sam was waiting for her.

"Wow! You look very pretty. I was thinking that we should keep looking for the key to that room. We didn't check the attic. Or maybe we should spend the day in the garden and plan how to improve it."  
"When I get back, we'll search some more and talk about the garden. Anything you need from town? And it's not too late to go with me."  
"No, nothing," Sam said and stepped away from her. "Go. Have a good time. I'll call my brother or something."  
He sounded so sad that Mercedes almost said she wouldn't go, but that was ridiculous. If he was a man who hated to be alone, why had he left the company of his extensive family? But no matter how much his eyes seemed to be pleading, she didn't give in to him and left the house. She walked to the end of the lane, took a left, and went to beautiful downtown Nantucket. The old buildings, the wonderful little shops, were all fascinating to her. As she wandered about, in and out of the stores, she kept thinking of Sam. She went up the stairs to a shop called Zero Main and looked around. The clothes were beautiful, but as she started to leave, it hit her that she could afford some new garments. Ever since her father and stepmother had died, Mercedes had to work, sometimes at three jobs. She'd had to support Aphasia, then when Aphasia had left for California to try her hand at acting, Mercedes had put herself through school. And the house she'd inherited from her father had needed a lot of repairs. As she looked about the shop, she realized that that was all done. She had graduated from school and could now earn money. With a smile, she took her time looking at the beautiful merchandise and ended up buying an entire outfit. She got a pretty white knit top, a dark blue jacket, black silk trousers, and a long necklace with a purple glass ball on the end of it.

* * *

As she left, she thought that even though her relationship with Sam was professional, it didn't hurt to look good. At Sweet Inspirations she bought him candy she thought he'd like. At the Whaling Museum she bought four books on the history of Nantucket and put the titles of eight more into her phone's notepad. The museum was a historian's dream.  
After lunch at Arno's, she walked home. She put her shopping bags down in the kitchen, removed the sack of candy, and went through the house, searching for Sam. She found him outside, sitting on the bench under the oak tree—and he looked almost forlorn. When he saw Mercedes, his face lit up. Having someone glad to see you was a soul-lifting feeling. It was how her grandparents greeted her when she was a child. But after Aphasia and her mother moved in, she got looks that seemed to say, 'Oh, it's you.'  
Smiling, Mercedes brushed the thoughts from her mind and went to sit beside him, holding out the bag of chocolate-covered cranberries.  
"Tell me everything you did," he said as he took the candy, and she did. They were still on the bench when a woman burst through the gate. Sam was holding his phone out to show Mercedes photos of the "munchkins," so they didn't at first see her. His family lived in Tennessee and he had just shown her a picture of the children racing scooters down the hallway of what looked like a marble mansion. Immediately, Mercedes asked him to tell her more about the house.  
"It was built by my robber baron ancestor, Dwight Evans," Sam said. "My dad is named after him. He was responsible for a lot of reforms in mining—the first Dwight, that is, not Dad. He—" When the big gate made a sudden, explosively loud sound as it slammed behind the woman who came running through it, Sam jumped to his feet. He grabbed a crutch and held it in a way that looked like he was ready to use it as a club.  
Mercedes was torn between her astonishment at Sam's reaction and what appeared to be rage on the face of the woman. She was short and stout, with iron-gray hair, and she looked like she wanted to tear someone apart.  
"Is my mother-in-law here?" she demanded. When Mercedes stood up beside Sam, he took a half step in front of her, as though to protect her.

"Who is your mother-in-law?"  
"Terry!" the woman said, then took a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm Rachel Berry from Star Haven, the B&B next door, and she is my husband, Brody's mother. If he doesn't know where she is for even a few minutes, he gets frantic. I told him she's probably over here, but he said I have to make sure. She's not inside, is she?" She nodded toward the house.  
"I was in there just minutes ago and it's empty," Mercedes said.  
"What about in the tea room? Is she hiding in there?"  
"If you mean the room on the side of the house, it's locked," Sam said.  
"We've been looking for the key."  
"There is no key!" Rachel said. "According to my crazy mother-in-law, only they can open the doors." She looked back toward the gate. "Why can't that woman stay where she's put?" She turned to Sam and Mercedes. "If she shows up, send her home, would you? Tell her Brody wants her. Heaven knows she won't return for me. I'm sorry I bothered you." She started for the gate at a rapid pace. Sam and Mercedes, both wide-eyed, looked at each other, then back at the woman.  
"Wait!" Mercedes called.  
With a look of impatience, Rachel stopped and turned back to them. "Yes?"  
"Who are 'they'?" Sam asked. "Who can open the doors?"  
Rachel looked shocked. "Don't tell me you bought this house and no one told you about them?"  
"Mercedes inherited it," Sam said.  
"Ah. Right. Makes sense. Old John Figgins wouldn't want just anyone around his precious ladies." She looked at her watch. "I have to get back, but 'they' are the Tea Ladies. The Figgins sisters who died. They're ghosts. I don't know much about them. All I know is that my crazy mother-in-law comes over here, goes into what she calls the tea room, and spends hours talking to them—or she thinks she does. I'm trying to get Brody to lock her away somewhere, but he won't do it. I really do have to go. I have fifteen people coming for afternoon tea." She left, slamming the gate hard behind her.  
For a moment Sam and Mercedes stood side by side in silence. At last Mercedes said, "We should have told her we love her fuzzy navel cupcakes."  
"And the lobster. But then my guess is that she has no idea Terry brought us the food."  
"I can understand that," Mercedes said. "I wouldn't want to confront that woman." She looked at Sam.

"It seems that I own a haunted house."  
"I think so. Does that scare you?"  
She thought for a moment. "No, it doesn't."  
"Wanna go knock on the tea room door and see who answers?"  
"Definitely!"  
Sam smiled at her. "Mercedes, baby, I like you more with every passing minute. Race you there!"  
Mercedes won the race, but she knew it was only because Sam was on crutches. She hadn't been to that side of the house and was surprised to see a narrow driveway and a double gate. If she had her car on the island, this was where she'd park it. In front of her was a set of tall, wide double doors that looked very solid. She tried the knob, but it didn't turn. She waited for Sam to come along on his crutches, and the way he pretended to have a tough time walking made her laugh. When he reached her, he said seriously,

"I think I need another massage to loosen me up."  
"Full body?" she shot back at him.  
"Lights off?"  
"Ten candles," she said.  
"One candle in the next room. With the door closed," he answered.  
"No deal, and it's your loss." Mercedes looked back at the doors. "Are you going to knock?"  
"I'm still thinking about a candlelight massage and besides, it's your house."  
She took a step forward and after an encouraging nod from Sam, she knocked on the door. Both of them held their breaths, but nothing happened. Sam stepped forward and knocked louder. Nothing.  
"Maybe tomorrow we should call a locksmith," she said.  
"Yeah, maybe." Sam raised his voice. "We're friends of Terry and we'd like to meet you. I'm Samuel Evans and this beautiful young woman with me is named Mercedes, after one of you two. She's called Mercedes and she's descended from—" He looked at her.  
"Michael Jones. He was married to Miranda."  
Sam loudly repeated what she'd said. "Mercedes is a cousin of yours by marriage and if there's one thing I know about in this world, it's cousins."  
Looking back at Mercedes, he lowered his voice. "I have thousands of cousins. My dad has eleven brothers and sisters and they all have kids."  
"Really?" Mercedes asked.  
"Yeah." He looked at her. "That big marble house you saw? You wouldn't believe it at Christmas. It's pure chaos."  
He looked back at the door. His tone implied that it was a horrible time, but Mercedes thought it sounded like fun. In her experience, Christmas had been a fairly solemn occasion. There had been pleasantries but nothing even near chaos— unless Aphasia didn't get enough gifts. Sam banged on the door again, but still not hing happened. "So maybe Terry is crazy."  
" 'Fraid so," Mercedes said. The truth was, she was looking at the way he leaned on his crutches. His body was tilting toward one side, and she was planning his next treatment. Besides that, she was dreading the coming night. She was getting tired of running up and down a dark staircase. One of her toes still ached from where she'd stubbed it this morning. The nighttime turmoil had happened twice  
now and a third time would make it a habit. It needed to stop now!

* * *

"I can't believe that after all we ate just a couple of hours ago, I'm hungry again."  
"Me too," Sam said and they started back to enter the house through the sunporch. Mercedes picked up the unfinished embroidery she'd seen the first day. "I could swear that more of this has been completed."  
Reaching into his pocket, Sam pulled out his cell phone and took a photo of the embroidery.

"If it changes again, we'll have a record of it." As Mercedes put the hoop back on the sofa, he quickly snapped a couple of photos of her.  
"What was that for?"  
"To send home to the relatives. You're the woman who keeps begging me to take my clothes off."  
"You aren't really going to say that, are you? Your mother will think I'm—"  
"Trying to help me recover and she'll thank you." He was smiling.  
As they went into the kitchen, she said, "Why didn't you stay at home with your family and do your therapy there?"  
"What can I say? They wanted to get rid of me."  
Mercedes started to ask more, but he strode ahead of her, opened the fridge, and began to talk rapidly. "How about giant sandwiches and four kinds of salad? You know how to make lemonade? I like mine with less sugar and maybe we can  
find some club soda to add. Ah! Here's—"  
She didn't listen to the rest of what he said because she knew he was just  
filling the air with words. Obviously, he didn't want to answer her question, so she backed off.  
While they made the sandwiches they chatted easily, laughing at themselves for believing there were ghosts living in the house.  
"If they were here, they wouldn't need locked doors," Mercedes said. "They could float through the walls."  
"So what do you think ol' John Figgins has locked away in that room that he didn't want anyone to see?" Sam bit into his sandwich.  
"Oh, please, I hope it's not porn."  
"What's secret about that? It's all over the Internet. Any kind you can imagine, it's all there. I've seen—" He broke off. "Not that I know for sure, but my brother Stevie—he's a law enforcement officer—told me about it."  
Mercedes laughed. "Stevie the Educator and Sam the Pure. But maybe John was old school and thought porn was something to be hidden away. I haven't checked if there's Wi-Fi in the house."  
"What about cross-dressing?" Sam said. "The room could be full of his dress-up clothes."  
Mercedes frowned. "When we get the doors open, I really hope we don't find anything hideous and especially not illegal in there. Why do you sleep downstairs?"  
Because Sam was still thinking of the possible contents of the locked room, he almost blurted out the truth. But he caught himself. "It seemed the right thing  
to do. I was going to be alone in the house with a young lady. It wouldn't be good for her reputation for us to be so close."  
"Reputation. I haven't heard that word since I last saw my grandparents. In this world of one-night stands, who worries about a woman's reputation?"  
"All those girls who get nude photos of themselves posted on the Internet. I think they're starting to make laws about that. I read that . . ."  
Mercedes blinked at him. _And are you changing the subject again?_ she thought.  
It looked like she'd hit on yet another one of his secrets. How many was that? About a hundred? She reminded herself that he was her patient, not her boyfriend. She picked up her empty plate and carried it to the sink. If he kept secrets, so could she. For one thing, she wasn't going to tell him what went on between them during the night. Nor was she going to mention that she knew his sleep was drug-induced. What she wanted to do was try to stop both the drugs and the night terrors.

"I want you to move upstairs," she said.  
"And why would you want that?" He was still sitting at the table. She'd expected him to do more sexual teasing, but he didn't. Instead, he sounded as though he was about to refuse—and she could guess why. He knew about his nightmares, but he didn't want her to know. He wanted to keep his male ego intact and make her think there was nothing wrong with him. She wanted to be near him so she could soothe him during the night, then get back to her own bed. There would be no more sleeping on the couch or with him. And the bigger bed upstairs would eliminate the danger of his falling onto the floor. But Mercedes was sure that if she told him the truth, he might . . . What? Leave? That was possible. Any man who had nightmares like his needed help and Mercedes planned to give it to him.  
She turned back to him.

"I, uh, well . . . I, uh . . ."  
He looked at her.

"What are you trying to say?"  
"This ghost thing kind of . . . Well, it scares me. Earlier you said that my lack of fear made you like me more, so now I'm worried that you'll like me less."  
Sam stood up and reached out to pull her to him. It was a brother-sister hug and he rubbed her back comfortingly.

"I'm sure there's nothing in the ghost story. Rachel is probably right and her mother-in-law should be put under care. I don't agree that she should be locked away, but she should get some help."  
He held Mercedes at arm's length and looked into her eyes. "My guess is that old  
man Figgins did something he didn't want people to know about. And he probably  
spread the ghost rumor to keep people away."  
"I'm sure you're right." Mercedes lowered her eyes so she'd look properly frightened.  
Sam drew her back against him. "Tomorrow we'll call a locksmith and I'll  
go in and look around."  
Mercedes wanted to say, Not without me! but couldn't since she was pretending to be afraid.

"So you'll move upstairs into the other bedroom and I won't be alone in this strange house?"  
"I don't think that's a good idea." His tone went back to being stern.  
Mercedes pushed away from him. "Okay. I'll move downstairs. But, no, that couch down there is too small to sleep on. I know. I'll call Sebastian and see if I can stay in his house for a few nights. I know it's empty. You'll be all right here by yourself, won't you?" She batted her lashes at him in innocence. Sam looked like he was torn between anger and helplessness. "All right, I'll move upstairs." His teeth were clenched together.  
"That's great!" Mercedes said. "I'll help you pack your things, and tonight I want to do some breathing exercises with you." She headed toward his room.  
"Look only in the bathroom and the closet!" Sam called after her. "I'll take care of the desk." He glared at the locked door that led into the tea room.  
"Whatever you've got hidden away in there, John Figgins, I'm going to expose it, 'cause look what you've done to me."  
He moved as fast as he could to get to the living room and dragged his duffel bag from under the bed. While Mercedes was gathering toiletries from the bathroom, he slipped eight bottles of medication into the side pocket and zipped it.


	6. Chapter 6

This story belongs to Jude Deveraux. I only borrow her amazing story and put my OTP in it.

* * *

Sam was lying on his back on the floor of his new bedroom, his hands clasped and raised above his head. Mercedes was seated beside him, leaning over his midsection, her hand just below his navel. Not that she could see his belly button, but she could guess at it.

"I want to feel your breath coming from here," she said. "Now deeper and slower."

"Are you sure this is going to do anything?"

"Shhhh," she said. "Don't talk. Just breathe." She watched him slowly raise and lower his hands and take long, deep breaths. He was such a contradiction! she thought. On the surface he seemed to not have a serious thought in his mind, always teasing and laughing, but his body felt like a tightly coiled spring. If she could just get him to fully relax, maybe he wouldn't need pills to help him sleep. She couldn't help wondering what had made him so tense. Was there a recent tragedy in his life? A brush with death for him? But she knew better than to flat out ask him. He'd change the subject. They spent an hour together doing exercises. Sam called them "girly" and frowned, but she could tell that the breathing movements were helping him. At one point she saw his eyes flicker as though he were sleepy. The thought that she'd helped enough that he might not need pills for sleep made her feel good.

When she finished with him, he lay on the thick rug, his eyes closed, and smiling. "Feel better?" she asked.

"I do, actually." He sounded surprised. She stood up and looked down at him. He'd said that he was truly beginning to like her and she felt the same way about him. She'd never before felt so comfortable with a man. Sometimes they even seemed to have the same thoughts at the same time. With the few boyfriends she'd had in the past, she usually couldn't wait to get away from them. Growing up, her neighbor Mrs. Chang, Mike's mother, had been a best friend to her. She used to say that Mercedes's problem was that she chose men like the people she knew. Mercedes asked what she meant.

"Jason was slow and easy like your grandfather, and Aaron was never available, just like your father. And Keith sat in a chair and let you wait on him. He was a male Aphasia." At the time, she'd laughed at the very accurate description of her past relationships, but she knew she didn't want to repeat herself. Of course there was one man they hadn't spoken of: Mike. They both wanted the same thing, for her and Mike to get together, but that didn't look like it was going to happen.

* * *

As Mercedes looked at Sam Evans, still lying on the floor, she wondered if it was possible that they could have a future together. Slowly, Sam opened his eyes and looked up at her. Some of what she was thinking must have been showing because his expression changed from sleepy to an invitation. He held up his hand for her to join him on the floor—and Mercedes knew where that would lead. A quickie with him in his big sweat suit. It would probably be wonderful, but in the morning she'd be angry at herself for mixing business with pleasure. She had to turn away or she'd let the pleasure side win.

"Can you get up by yourself?" Her back was to him.

"Sure," he said, his voice flat. He sounded like a man who'd just been rejected—which, in a way, he was. She heard him as he held on to the bedpost and got up. When he was standing, she looked back at him and gave a smile as though nothing had happened.

"I'll see you in the morning."

"All right," Sam said, his voice cool and distant. But then his head came up. "How do you work out?"

"The usual way," she said. The truth was that between taking care of Aphasia, multiple jobs, going to school, and, well, taking care of Aphasia, gym time had

been left out. She'd told herself that the practice sessions where she'd learned the proper form for rehabilitation had been enough. The wary expression left Sam's handsome face and the tension between them was gone.

"Tomorrow morning you're going to work out with me."

"No, I'm not," Mercedes said quickly. She'd seen him in the gym. He'd probably hand her fifty-pound dumbbells and say, "Now, let's see what you can do with them."

"I'll see you at six A.M. Goodnight."

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

With an almost menacing look, he came toward her on one crutch and Mercedes backed up. She didn't realize she was in the hall until he closed the door in her face. She started to open the door and protest, but she didn't. Instead, yawning, she went into her own room and got into bed. She'd deal with that in the morning.

* * *

Hours later, when the groans woke Mercedes, she came alert instantly, and in seconds she was in Sam's bedroom. It was very dark, with no nightlight, and she had to use her memory to get to the bed. He was thrashing about, rolling from one side to the other, and when Mercedes touched his shoulder he grabbed her to him. Her feet were still on the floor and she was so twisted that she was close to breaking. She threw a leg up onto the bed. He'd tossed the covers off so her body was next to his. She wore only a big T-shirt and underpants, but even at night he was covered by sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. He pulled her to him, snuggling them so her legs were held between his. As soon as her hips were pressed to his she knew he was ready for her.

"Sam?" she whispered, but there was no answer. His hand slowly moved over her body, down to her nearly bare backside, caressing her flesh all the way down. Mercedes's eyes closed. He was such a beautiful man and his hard body against hers was making her heart beat quickly.

"I can't— We can't—" she began, but he bent his head and kissed her. It wasn't like the other two kisses. This one was full of passion and desire. When his tongue touched hers, Mercedes forgot about the forbidden aspect and kissed him back. She'd wanted him from the moment she'd first seen him and days of being near him had intensified that desire. She kissed him back as though she were desperate, needed him past desire. With her knee nudging his maleness, when her foot touched the mattress, she dug in so that he turned onto his back. A groan came from him. It wasn't his usual nighttime sound of fear, but raw, unbridled passion. Mercedes straddled him, feeling his hard desire between her legs. The room was so dark she couldn't see his face, but when she kissed his eyes they were closed. Sitting back, she flung her T-shirt to the floor and leaned over him, her naked breasts in his face. There was another sound from him, this one almost of pain. There was deep yearning in his voice. In one quick, strong movement, he flipped her onto her back. She felt him pulling the drawstring on his pants and lowering them. Her arms were around him, feeling the muscles in his body, the deep curves of them, the ridges and valleys. Naked, he must be a sight to behold, she thought. She still had on her underpants, so when he started to enter her, there was a barrier.

"Wait," she whispered as she reached down to remove them.

"I will wait for you forever, Tina," he said, his lips on her ear. Mercedes froze beneath him. In an instant her mind went from being blind with lust to crystal clear. She was about to have sex with a man who was in a drug induced sleep! Was she crazy?! Not only would he not remember it in the morning but he'd think he'd dreamed of making love with another woman. For a moment, the feel of his magnificent body, his breath on her cheek, and his sheer masculinity made her think, Who cares?But she had more pride than that. It wasn't easy, but she rolled out from under him and stood up. Her heart was still pounding, her breath coming fast and loud, and it took minutes to get herself under control. The darkness of the room had annoyed her, but now she was glad for it because she was nearly nude. When she heard Sam moving his arms, she knew he was searching for her. She felt her way around to the far side of the bed, found her T-shirt, and put it on. The noise he was making had stopped and for a moment she thought maybe he'd awakened, but she heard the soft sound of his breathing and she knew he was still asleep. She made her way to the door and through to her own bed. As she lay there— alone—part of her regretted her decision to leave him. Sex with a sleeping man. When you thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. But Mercedes knew herself well enough to realize that it wouldn't have stopped there—not for her, anyway. She wasn't the type of person who could sue her stepsister when she tried to steal from her, and she wasn't one to have sex without feelings attached. Like Sam had said, she was growing to like him more every day. Would they have easy, pleasant companionship during the day and sex at night? Sex that he didn't remember?

"So what happens when Tina shows up?" she whispered aloud. Would Mercedes just step aside and think it was fun while it lasted? Smile at the two of them as they walked around the garden and kissed and snuggled?

No, she knew she wouldn't be able to do that. Before she finally went back to sleep, she renewed her vow to keep the relationship between them professional.

* * *

"Jones!" came a voice like a drill sergeant. Mercedes, on her stomach under the covers, moved farther down. Sam tossed back the coverlet, exposing her T-shirt-clad upper half.

"It's time to go to the gym."

"Who is Tina?" she asked.

She didn't see the shock on his face that was followed by anger. But he got his emotions under control.

"She's the love of my life. Jealous?"

"Does she put up with your moans and groans and calling her name at night?" Mercedes still hadn't turned over, and she was berating herself for having asked about the woman. But it was better than not knowing.

"I'm lovable as I am," Sam answered. "Now get up and let's go to the gym. I'm going to toughen you up."

"Oh?" she said and turned over in the bed to look up at him. Her braless upper half was barely hidden under the thin T-shirt. "You don't like the softness

of women?"

She had the pleasure of seeing his eyes widen. Putting his crutches aside, he sat down on the side of the bed.

"If you want to . . ." He trailed off and when his hand reached for her, she flung back the cover on the opposite side of the bed, rolled out, and walked around toward him. Her T-shirt hung only to her hips so her bare legs were had the great satisfaction of seeing Sam's face turn nearly white.

"Holy crap, Mercedes! I'm only human."

"You're the one who told me to get up."

"And now we both are."

She didn't know what he meant, but a quick glance downward explained it. While trying to suppress a giggle, she hurried to the bathroom and closed the door.

* * *

Over two hours later they left the gym and walked back to the house. Mercedes was sure that every muscle in her body was going to be sore. Sam had put her on a program on the treadmill that went back and forth from easy to fast and difficult. Then he'd had her sit on a bench while he guided her arms as she did variations of flys and curls. In return, she got him off the weights and into exercises that were part Pilates, part yoga, with a lot of meditation added. Her goal was to get the tension out of his giant muscles. For all that the long, hard workout nearly killed her, Mercedes had enjoyed it. They'd laughed and talked throughout the time. Sam told her stories of his family, a lot of them about his brother Stevie, who Sam seemed to think was the best guy on the earth.

"He does undercover work with the police and sometimes I don't hear from him for months." Sam sounded as though when he and his brother were separated, they missed each other to the point of pain. His talk of his family was so happy that Mercedes wanted to respond in kind, so she told him more about living with her grandparents. She described the big garden they had and how her school friends loved to come to sleepovers and pick berries.

"My grandfather would set up a screen in the garden and we'd watch movies outside. It sounds tame now, but to a bunch of nine-year-olds it was wildly exciting."

"But later your grandparents moved out?"

"Yes," Mercedes said and her voice changed. "When Dad showed up with his new wife and her cute little brunette daughter, my grandparents ran to Florida."

"So the only relative you have left is Aphasia?"

"Yes," Mercedes said and she could feel her back teeth clenching. Sam saw in her eyes what he guessed was years of repressed anger. He could give her sympathy, but he knew from experience that was often what a person needed least.

"You want some? Relatives, I mean. I have what feels like millions of them. Just last year a whole new branch of them found us. Sebastian Smythe showed up and we found out we're related to half of Nantucket. So tell me what kind of relatives you want. You could go by age, sex, personality, profession, or location. Just tell me and I can find whatever you want."

By the time he finished, Mercedes was laughing. "I'll take a tall, and handsome male."

"Here I am."

She laughed harder. "You and your ego! Get down on the floor and start breathing."

"Is this the one where you use both hands to search for my belly button? Just so you know, last night it moved six inches lower."

"Get on the floor!" She was shaking her head at him and still laughing. When they finally quit working out and got back to the house, they were pleased to see that the kitchen table was loaded with food.

"Looks like Terry has been here," Sam said.

"And she's trying to win us over to her side."

Sam picked up a little triangle of crisp strudel, broke it in half, and gave the larger piece to Mercedes.

"Let's see. Angry woman who slams gates versus Terry who brings us food. Hard to decide, huh?"

"Terry has won me. This is delicious. Apricots?"

"I think so. What's your favorite berry?" He picked up a square cookie with a design of a rabbit on it.

"Raspberry. When I was little, Grams made a killer jam from them. Is that tea hot?"

Sam touched the pot. "Scalding."

By the next minute they were seated at the table and helping themselves. Before they finished, Sam's phone rang. He looked at the ID.

"A cousin. What a surprise." He touched "answer." "Sebastian, good to hear from you. I just came up from the basement, where I have Mercedes chained to a wall. She—"

"Give me that!" Mercedes said as she took the phone from him. "Hi, Sebastian. Everything here is okay. What about you?"

"Fine," he said. "Quinn and I are in New York right now, but I wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten about you. I'm going to get a lawyer on this case against

your stepsister."

"I don't think that's necessary," she said. "I'm sure you made your point clear enough that Aphasia won't do anything like that again."

"Mercedes," Sebastian said with patience, "we left your stepsister alone in a house that you own. For all we know, by now she's put it up for sale."

"I don't think she'd do that. She—"

Sam took his phone back and put it on speaker. "I agree with you," he said to Sebastian. "You have a lawyer? If not, I'm related to some."

"That's why I'm calling. Quinn wondered if Mercedes knew an attorney who is aware of the family situation. It might save time explaining."

Sam looked at her in question.

"My neighbor's son, Mike Chang, is a lawyer," Mercedes said. "But he's with Tanaka-Pillsbury in Boston. They're a big-deal law firm and I'm sure this case would be too small for them."

"Does your friend know Aphasia?" Sebastian asked.

"Oh, yes. He's known her since she was a child."

"Perfect. I'm going to call him."

"Do you want his phone numbers and addresses?" Mercedes asked. "I know them by heart."

"Let me get a pen," Sebastian said. "Okay. Shoot."

She recited Mike's cell number, office number, the addresses of his law firm and his apartment in Boston. Then she gave the cell number and address of

his mother, who lived across the road from Mercedes's house.

"This is great," Sebastian said. "Thanks, and I'll get back to you as soon as I know anything."

"Ask about the tea room," Sam said.

"Uh, Sebastian?" Mercedes asked. "Uh, something happened. I don't know how to say this exactly, but . . . Well, actually, nothing really happened, but—"

Sam picked up the phone. "Did you know this house is haunted by a couple of tea-serving ladies?"

"Oh, Lord," Sebastian said. "I forgot about them." He let out a sigh. "Nantucket has . . ." He trailed off. "How scared are the two of you?"

"Not scared at all," Sam said. "Well, Mercedes is a bit, but she had me move upstairs to be near her and she's okay now."

"Did she?" Sebastian said in a way that left no doubt that he thought the "moving upstairs" had nothing to do with a couple of ghosts.

Sam looked at Mercedes, who had averted her gaze from him. "Actually, we're intrigued and would like to know more about the ladies, but that room is locked.

We thought we'd call a locksmith and—"

"No," Sebastian said. "I know someone who can open the doors. I'll call him and he can probably answer any questions you both have. His official title is Dr.

Will Schuester, director of the Nantucket Historical Society. Are you two going to be home today?"

When Sam looked at Mercedes, she nodded. "We'll be here." As he hung up, he picked up another of the square cookies, this one with a rose on it.

"It'll be interesting to find out the history of the Tea Ladies, won't it?" Mercedes said.

Sam was staring at the food on the tiered tray. "What's your stepsister's cell number?"

"I'll look on my phone and give it to you."

"You don't know the number off the top of your head?"

"No, I don't."

"So you're not one of those savants who can remember everybody's numbers and addresses?"

"Of course not. What gave you that idea? Oh. Mike. It's just that I've known him a very long time and his mother and I are close. She helped me after

my grandparents moved out, when I was left alone with Roz and Aphasia. And he—"

"How old is this Mike?"

When she realized what he was getting at, she couldn't help a little smile.

"Thirty-two. Jealous?" She was teasing, just as he'd done this morning, but there was no laughter on Sam's face.

"Of an old lawyer? Not at all." He got up from the table. "I have some emails to answer." He left the room. In spite of his denial, his attitude made her smile.

* * *

Sebastian called Will Schuester, his wife's stepfather—though past that, the two of them had a very long history together. He didn't bother with preliminaries. "You have to go to the Jones-Figgins house today and tell Sam and Mercedes about the ghosts. And be gentle. They don't understand Nantucket."

"Ah," Will said, his voice soft. "Those beautiful young ladies. I'd like to see them again."

"Forget that. I don't want you talking to ghosts and scaring a couple of off islanders to death. Go as Dr. Schuester, the director of the NHS, and tell them the facts."

Will chuckled. "You mean tell them how every male on the island under the age of seventy used to climb the walls to get to those women? Actually, old Sandy was seventy-two, so make that every man under eighty."

"I don't have time to reminisce with you about the good ol' days. Just please go over to the house and tell them some nice, quiet story that will keep them from jumping on the next ferry and leaving the island. I especially want Mercedes to stay calm. She can't leave until I get this business about her stepsister straightened out."

"I'll take care of it," Will said. "You handle your buildings and leave the ghosts to me." As soon as Will hung up, he buzzed for his assistant. When she entered he said, "If I draw a map of the attic of Fabray House, could you go there and get something for me?"

Like all historians, her eyes lit up at the prospect. Fabray House had been owned by the same family since it was built in the early 1800s. It was rumored that the attic was full of treasures that should be in museums: journals, clothes, historic artifacts, things historians could only dream about.

"Yes," she managed to say. Will quickly drew a map of the arrangement of the attic. Third row from the door, all the way to the back, under four crates full of China imports, inside an old trunk, on the bottom left side, was a little cinnabar box that contained a key.

He wanted that key.


	7. Chapter 7

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

When Will got to the Jones-Figgins house, he knew he should go to the front door and knock, but he didn't. Instead, he went around to the back gate. It wasn't the big double gate by the B&B but the small one hidden behind shrubs and the old chicken coop. It took some muscle to open the gate, but in the last year Will had spent a lot of time in a gym. The first thing he saw was that the chicken coop had been remade into a home gym. The yard where the chickens had scratched and fluttered in their mud baths had a pretty grape arbor over it and two chairs beneath it. He sat down in one and looked out over the long view of the garden. It was awful! It had once been lush to the point where it looked like the Garden of Eden. Now it was nearly bare, the flower beds still outlined but empty. The big pergola was gone. The girls had served tea under it, and he remembered pink and white rose petals dropping onto the tablecloth. He'd always thought the petals matched the perfect skin of those beautiful girls. As he envisioned those soft summer days, the food, the laughter, and most of all, the perfection of the girls, he could feel tears coming to his eyes. So many years had passed, but today it all seemed fresh. He heard a door close, then a woman's laughter, and he knew he should leave. If he went back out the gate and around to knock on the front door, they'd never know he'd been there. He was about to get up, but when he saw them, he sat back down. He was always curious about people. They were a young, handsome couple and Mercedes looked like Michael. How many generations separated her from her ancestor? he wondered. But no matter the time, the resemblance was still there. For a moment Will closed his eyes in memory. They had all envied Michael so very much. Every man on Nantucket had tried to make the girls fall in love with him. They'd brought back gifts from their sailing voyages to far-off places, poems written on scrimshaw, busks made of ivory to slip into their corsets, buttons. The risks they'd taken to get recipes for the girls! Around Nantucket it became a saying,

"What did you bring back for the Figgins girls?" Their father made his daughters return silks and jewelry, but they were allowed to keep plants nurtured on long voyages, pretty pieces of china, and their favorite, recipes from foreign lands. When the young men were home from their long voyages, they hung around the house constantly. The girls' father used to run them off with an oar, threatening them. But it didn't deter any of them. They were back again before daylight, with a new gift and a new hope. But none of them came close to receiving that look of love. The girls were the same to all the men who visited. They were gracious, kind, generous. But there was no spark. Until Michael Jones arrived. He had come over from Boston, a young man who wanted time away from his blue-blood family, away from his endless studies. One of the Johnson boys invited him to tea at the Figgins house to meet the sisters. They were young and at the height of their beauty. Will hadn't been there that day, but he'd heard about it—as had everyone on the island. Mercedes opened the door, smiling as always, and was introduced. Then Miranda came into the room. She and Michael looked at each other and . . .

Well, that was that. They were married six months later. A week after that . . .

Will didn't want to think about the end of the story, of when he'd been told of their deaths. None of the Nantucketers could imagine the island without the Figgins girls, and for days everyone was silent in grief. Afterward, the girls' father lived alone, willing himself to join his cherished daughters in Heaven. The garden became a mass of weeds and the house was always dark. As for Michael, Will was told that his deep sorrow had made him suicidal, and he'd been put under watch to prevent him from harming himself. As Will watched the young couple, he could see Michael in the girl, and he couldn't help marveling at how characteristics were passed down through the centuries. The way the girl moved her hands was like Michael. The tilt of her head was like him. Even her laugh sounded like his. She was walking with a muscular young man on crutches, and their heads were very close together. He could hear quiet laughter between them. _Like Michael and Miranda_, he thought. They had eyes only for each other.

_Oh, my poor, poor Miranda_, Will thought. How it must hurt her to see this young woman who was so like the man she loved. Or did it make her feel good to see that he'd lived on in this pretty girl? The couple were coming closer and even as absorbed in each other as they were, they'd soon see him and that would be embarrassing. He started to get up, but then that odious woman from the inn next door threw open the big red gates and came storming toward the couple. The gate slammed behind her, loud enough to be cannon fire.

The young man, Sam, was a bit behind the girl so she didn't see his reaction —but Will did. Sam dropped to one knee, reached out to grab the girl, but then seemed to remember where he was and let his hand fall away. His action was something that Will had seen many, many times and he knew what caused it. When the young man was using his crutches to get himself up, he saw Will sitting in the chair. Instantly, his face took on a look of aggression.

"Sam!" Mercedes called. She was with the angry woman. "Have you seen Terry today?"

He hardly turned around, but kept his eyes on Will. "No, I haven't," he said over his shoulder as he made his way to the older man. His face was glowering,

menacing, even. "May I ask who you are and why you sneaked onto this property?"

"I'm Will Schuester," he said, "and I shouldn't have come unannounced. I apologize for my lack of manners."

Sam recovered himself, his face relaxed, and he sat down in the other chair.

"Sorry for the . . ." He waved his hand, not knowing how to explain his actions, then nodded toward the older woman standing in front of the gate. "I take it you know who we are, but that's Rachel, and her mother-in-law, Terry, constantly runs away."

"Do you blame her?" Will asked. They could hear the angry tone of Rachel's voice.

"Not at all. I think that even if Terry were here, we'd not tell on her. She sneaks us food from the inn, so we have these wonderful afternoon teas, or a lavish breakfast after an early workout."

"Does she?" Will asked, smiling, his eyes sparkling as though from some mischief. "Does she still serve those little anise seed biscuits?"

"Oh, yeah. And cookies with bits of fruit buried in them. And fuzzy navel cupcakes."

"From the 1960s," Will said, nodding. "I remember them well. That recipe was from a woman trying to find a man she'd met years before."

"You mean someone who stayed at the inn?" Sam asked. Will was trying to think of a way to answer that when he saw Mercedes coming toward them. He got up, introduced himself, and offered her his chair.

"I couldn't take your seat," she said to the very handsome older man.

"I'll get a bench," Sam said and went into the gym.

Mercedes sat down in his chair. "I'm sorry I didn't greet you when you arrived, but Rachel showed up and . . ." She shrugged.

"I'm afraid I came in through the gate behind your new gym. I was trespassing and I apologize. I haven't been here in years and I wanted to see the place."

Mercedes looked through the open door into the gym. For Sam to carry a bench and manage his crutches by himself was going to be difficult. She started to get up to help him, but Will put his hand on her arm.

"Let your young man impress you," he said. "Help him when there's no other male around."

"Good advice." Mercedes looked back at the garden.

"Have you had many visitors?" he asked.

"None, unless you count angry Rachel. Terry has been here, but I've never had a conversation with her."

"But I hear you've eaten her food," Will said, smiling. "Fill you up, did it?"

What an odd question, Mercedes thought but didn't say.

"Tell me about your young man. Sebastian said you're treating him for his injured knee."

"Yes, I am." She glanced toward the gym at Sam. He had his cell phone to his ear and when he caught her eye, he mouthed, "Stevie."

"Any problems?" Will asked.

"No," Mercedes said. "Sam is pleasant to be around and laughs easily. I enjoy his company very much."

"But . . .?" Will asked. When Mercedes didn't say anything, he lowered his voice. "If something's bothering you, you can tell me. I have a lot of grandchildren so maybe I can help."

"It's nothing," Mercedes said, but just the idea of "grandfather" seemed to open doors. When she was growing up, her grandparents were her best friends. "He

won't take his clothes off."

"Oh," Will said.

"No, not like that. For massages. I've never seen a body hold as much tension as his does and I could help him, but he won't let me." She gave a sigh. "It's just one of his quirks, that's all."

"Does he have many of these odd behaviors?"

Mercedes laughed. "About a dozen of them. I can't get him to leave this place for a moment. He won't even walk down the lane with me. And there's some big mystery about why he's here. If his family can afford a private jet, why didn't they send him to some exclusive place in Switzerland or somewhere? Why here, to me, to someone they don't even know?"

"Whatever their reason, from what I've seen of you two together, I think they made a wise decision."

Mercedes waved her hand. "It's not what it seems. We laugh and tease and . . ."

She broke off with a grimace. "Anyway, he's in love with some girl named Tina. He says she's the love of his life."

Will looked toward the gym. Sam was still on the phone. "From the look of him, I think you're doing an excellent job."

"I hope so. The truth is, it doesn't seem like work. Sam said his family will be arriving in a few days. Have you met them?"

"Not many of them, no." Will leaned closer to her. "When your young man gets off the phone, why don't you leave him with me for a while? I'll see what I can find out. Petticoat Row Bakery has marvelous pastries. I'd love to have tea here in this garden."

"I will," she said. "And thank you." After Sam put his phone away, she went to the door and told him she was going into town and that Dr. Schuester was

staying for tea.

"Maybe Terry will bring us something," Sam said.

"No, I think we'll try something different today. I'll be back in about an hour." For a second she hesitated, as his eyes seemed to be asking her not to leave. Heaven help her, but she almost kissed him in reassurance. Like she did at night. I need to get away, she thought. She waved to both men and left.

* * *

Sam took the chair by Dr. Schuester and for a while they sat in silence, looking at the barren garden.

"She has no idea what you've been through, does she?" Will asked quietly. For a moment Sam seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to tell the

truth.

"None."

Will nodded. "I hear you won't take your clothes off."

"Too many nicks and holes in this old body," he said. "People see them and I get the 'poor Sam' routine. Then they start with questions about how I'm feeling. What I've learned is that they just want to hear that I'm fine."

Will understood what he was saying. "Who is Tina?"

Sam took a deep breath. "A fellow soldier. We were all half in love with her and envied her husband back home. She kept our spirits up, made us laugh, kept us from being too scared to move." He paused. "She was in the Humvee that blew up when I was in it. I was the only one who survived with all my limbs."

"And Tina?" Sam had to swallow the tears that were beginning to come. "She didn't make it."

"Something like that leaves a man feeling guilty, doesn't it?"

"Beyond what you can imagine."

"Actually, I believe I can," Will said softly, then changed tone. "When are you going to tell young Mercedes about all this?"

"Never!" Sam said fiercely. "Since I got back, she's the first person who hasn't looked at me with pity in her eyes. My whole family tiptoes around me. They tell the kids to be quiet, not to drop things, not to yell because Uncle Sam is . . . is half a man." Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his temper. "But what really hurts is that I need all of it."

"How did you get here on Nantucket with Mercedes?"

He took a moment to answer. "When we heard about a physical therapist inheriting this house, it seemed like a solution. It was a chance to get me away from my family. Let me have some peace. I was all for it. I even exchanged some emails with a girl I thought was Mercedes. But the night before I was to leave I chickened out. I did not want to dump my fears and terrors on some innocent female. You saw that I can't even hear a gate slam without going into a defensive position! Who deserves that? Who—"

Sam's hands were clenching the arms of the chair, his knuckles white. "My brother drugged me. Mom and Dad knew nothing about it. I went to sleep at home and woke up here, and I met Mercedes."

At the mention of her name, he started to relax. "She's been the best thing for me. She doesn't pity me. She just thinks I'm a bit weird." He gave a little smile. "But that's okay with her. I get the idea that she's used to dealing with people who aren't exactly normal human beings."

"And you don't want to risk losing that," Will said. He knew a lot about being scared of losing something. Long ago he'd been afraid that if he weren't a

very wealthy man, he'd lose the woman he loved. His penalty for that vanity had come down from Heaven itself. "You should tell her," he said. "Strip down to your skivvies and show her the truth."

"And watch her eyes change?" Sam said. "I've seen that too many times. No, thank you. I like her ordering me to do her exercises. I even like her thinking I'm some rich playboy. Better that than feeling sorry for me."

Will shook his head. "You do know, don't you, that when women find out a man has lied to them that they are not amused." When he looked at Sam, he saw that he didn't seem to be concerned. "I can tell that you have never been on the receiving end of a woman's rage over a man's prevarications—no matter how well intention they were." Sam's eyes were twinkling. "I'm not sure yet, but I think Mercedes might forgive me."

Will laughed. "Ah, the vanity of youth. You make me glad I'm an old man."

He stood up. "Come on and I'll tell you how the garden used to be. You can use the knowledge to impress your pretty girlfriend."

"She is pretty, isn't she? I like the shape of her. She—"

Rolling his eyes, Will pointed out where a row of blueberry bushes had been.

* * *

When Mercedes returned, she had a bag full of muffins and cookies—and a new pair of navy-blue flats. "Sorry," she said. "There's a beautiful clothing shop by the

bakery and I had to make an emergency purchase."

Sam, leaning on his crutches, was standing at the back door. Will, beside him, wondered what he'd say. Would he try to prove his masculinity by saying

she shouldn't have made them wait?

"Wise decision," Sam said solemnly. "Do you think they have them in my size?"

"If they did, they'd have to be tied to the dock." She looked at Will. "Where do you think the ladies served tea?"

"There," he said, pointing. "There was a pergola covered by roses."

There were only a few stones left to mark where the structure had been. Mercedes pointed out the shade near the wall.

"What if we bring some furniture out and have our tea there?"

"I'd like that very much," Will said.

"Come on," she said to Sam, "help me set this up and maybe I'll let you try on my new shoes."

"With or without you in them?" he asked as he followed her to the house. At the doorway he paused to look back at Will. "See? No pity," he said and went inside.

It didn't take long to bring out three chairs, a little table, and a tray full of tea things.

"I want to hear every word of the story of the Tea Ladies," Mercedes said as she poured the tea. "Although I fear that if they ended up ghosts, there isn't a happy

ending."

"There is usually good in every story," Will said and began to tell of the two sisters who had been born less than a year apart. They had been pretty little girls, but by the time they reached sixteen, they were extraordinary. "Nantucket men traveled the world over, but all of them agreed that they'd never seen beauty to compare with that of Mercedes and Miranda Figgins." Their mother died when the girls were quite young. Their father—who had a store that sold tea and coffee dedicated his life to providing for them and protecting was a good storyteller and he had them laughing as he described what the men of Nantucket did to try to court the gorgeous young women, from gifts to secret visits.

"See this high wall? Old man Figgins put it up to try to keep the men out. But it didn't even slow —them—down. Night and day, men and boys vaulted over the wall and fell to the ground. Doc Sheldon said his practice was based solely on what he called the Figgins Fools. Broken ankles, arms, collarbones, twisted necks. Half the males on the island were on crutches."

Sam and Mercedes were laughing.

"What they loved is that the girls never let the attention or their own beauty go to their heads. They were kindness personified. They . . ." He had to pause to get control of himself. Mercedes was right: This story did not have a happy ending. He looked back at the eager young faces waiting to hear more.

"They were the town's matchmakers."

"As in putting couples together?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes, and they were quite brilliant at it. They were the ones who got Captain Mark Fabray and the lovely Valencia Smythe to stop arguing and admit they were mad about each other." He looked at Sam. "If they hadn't done that, your Fabray ancestor wouldn't have been born and you wouldn't now be sitting here with this lovely young lady."

"I love them very much," Sam said with such seriousness that he made Will laugh and Mercedes's smiled sheepishly.

Will continued. "The girls invited people, young and old, to tea nearly every afternoon, and what they served was beyond delicious. It was said that they could take barnacles and bilge water and bake them into ambrosia. Between the beauty, the food, and the matchmaking, you can see why all the sailors brought back gifts for the girls." He told of their father's taboo on keeping expensive personal items, so the sailors offered gifts for the tea parties. "The girls especially liked recipes that came from all over the globe."

"That's like our teas!" Mercedes said. "The B&B seems to be carrying on the tradition because Terry brings us food from everywhere."

"Does she?" Will said, smiling, then continued. "Over the years, the Figgins sisters got to know their guests and saw who interacted well. Then they contrived ways to get prospective couples together at church, at socials, wherever they could. And they had a knack for breaking up unsuitable engagements and putting people together who actually liked each other." Will chuckled. "Sometimes they met with resistance, like the time they put the daughter of a tavern owner with one of the rich Coffin boys. It took a while, but his family grew to love her."

"Weren't they too young to do something like that?" Mercedes asked.

"Old souls," Will said softly. "Sometimes when people intuitively know that they aren't to be on the earth long, they seem older than their ages. I think in this case those beautiful young ladies wanted to leave behind what they instinctively knew they were never going to have for themselves. They gave people love and families."

"I don't think I want to hear the end of this story," Mercedes said. Reaching across the little table, Sam put his hand over hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Didn't Mercedes's ancestor change everything?"

"Yes, he did," Will said and began to describe the instant love between Miranda and Michael. "Once those two saw each other, everyone else ceased to exist."

Will saw the quick glance that Mercedes and Sam exchanged, as though they knew the feeling. It wasn't easy for him to suppress his smile. In his long lifetime he'd seen many people fall in love the moment they saw each other.

"Miranda and Michael got married, didn't they?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes. Just six months after they met, they married."

"Was it a nice wedding?" Mercedes didn't want to sound too girly around the men.

"By all accounts, it was glorious. I heard that Miranda wore a dress the color of the sky just before a storm, and her sister wore one like early dawn at sea."

"Oh," Mercedes said, letting out her breath. "I'm not sure what those colors are, but I like the sound of them. Were there lots of flowers?"

"The islanders denuded half of the gardens on Nantucket. But then there were few families who didn't owe the girls something, including children who

wouldn't have existed except for them. Someone called them the Princesses of Blissful Tomorrows."

"That's lovely," Mercedes said. "I've always dreamed of—" She stopped herself.

"Anyway, did the newlyweds have time for a happy life before . . . you know?"

"No," Will said flatly. "At the party after the wedding, the sisters' father collapsed. Everyone had been so preoccupied that no one had noticed he was ill." Will took a breath. "He had a fever that he probably caught from one of the ships that had recently returned with a cargo of tea. His daughters insisted on taking care of him, so Miranda postponed her wedding trip—and her wedding night."

When Will looked at the young couple, his eyes were bleak. "The girls caught the fever. Their father recovered, but they did not."

He took a moment to calm himself. "The whole island grieved. In less than a week they went from joyous celebration to deep mourning."

"And what about Michael, the bridegroom?" Mercedes asked.

"He was inconsolable. His relatives came from Boston to get him and took him home. He never returned to the island. Many years later he married again and had a son, your ancestor."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, listening to the birds and the wind, the tragic story hanging over them. Sam broke the sadness. "You know, if I'm going to be in a haunted house, I'm glad the ghosts are two hot babes."

Mercedes and Will couldn't help laughing. Will reached into his pocket, withdrew an old key, and put it on the table.

"That should open the side door."

Sam picked up the key. "And we'll see them inside?"

"Only if you've not yet met your True Love."

"What?" Mercedes asked.

"Sebastian didn't tell you that part?" Will had to feign innocence, as he well knew that Sebastian wouldn't have told them the old story.

"No, he didn't," Mercedes and Sam said together.

"The legend is that the Figgins girls still like to match people and the only ones who can see them are ones who need their help. If the door opens, they're allowed to go into a beautiful room, and the dear young ladies will be there waiting for them."

"And if they aren't needed?"

Will shrugged. "Then they'll see a room that has been closed up for a very long time. John kept all the doors locked after he bought the house. I'm not sure he ever went in there after the first time. By now, it must be a very dusty room." There was a lot more to that story, but Will wasn't going to tell it, at least not now.

Sam gave a little snort. "Wait a minute! If Terry can see them, does that mean she's looking for her True Love? Isn't she a little, you know, past that?"

Will didn't smile. "Are you asking if she's too old to find love?" His voice was louder and deeper.

"I'm just trying to put some reality into this fairy tale, that's all." Sam's voice was also rising.

Mercedes glared at him. "If you get into a fight and hurt your knee, I swear I will cut your clothes off before I call an ambulance." She turned back to Dr. Schuester.

"So why wouldn't the door open for me? I know Sam has someone, but I don't."

"Who do I have?" Sam asked quickly, but when Mercedes gave him a look, he said, "Oh, yeah."

"You'll have to figure that out on your own." Will looked at his watch. "I'm afraid I have to go. My lovely wife is waiting for me." He stood up. "Perhaps you two could come to dinner some night." A look at Sam's frown stopped him. "But with the coming commotion of the wedding, it might be too much."

Sam and Mercedes walked with Dr. Schuester to the front gate and watched him go to the end of the lane. When he was out of sight, they looked at each other. Mercedes had the key in her hand.

"So now what do we do?"

"We go see a dirty old room that has been locked up for who knows how long?" Sam said.

"If we see it as dusty, that means you and I have already met our True Loves.

"No," he said. "It means that the place hasn't been cleaned."

"But Terry—"

"Obviously has a key," he said. "The next time I see her I'm going to put her in a stranglehold and make her talk."

"You do that and she might stop stealing Rachel's food and delivering it to us," Mercedes said.

"Good point. So? You ready to open the door?"

"Maybe we should wait until the morning when the light is better and we can —" She broke off when Sam started toward the side of the house. He was getting quite fast on his crutches! By the time she got there, he was standing in front of the double doors.

"You want to open it or do you want me to do it?" he asked. Mercedes held the key on her outstretched palm.

"What happens if we open the door and two beautiful ghosts are standing there?"

"We'll say hello." Sam took the key and put it in the lock. It turned easily.

"Ready?" When she nodded, he turned the knob. Inside was a room covered in dust and cobwebs, with dried leaves on the dirty floor. But no ghosts.

"See?" Sam said and she knew he was laughing at her.

"I guess this means I've met the love of my life." She began to walk around. It was a large room and although everything was thickly coated in gray, she could see that under it was beauty. In a corner was a seating area with a little couch and some chairs. Two tables were by the dirty windows. Against one wall was a huge old-fashioned Welsh dresser heavily laden with china. She picked up a plate and wiped her hand through the dirt.

"Look. This is the pattern of the dishes we've been eating off of."

"If Terry has a key, based on her actions at the B&B, she probably 'borrowed' some." He was at a door in the corner. "Wonder where this leads?"

Mercedes went to him as he opened it. Inside was a big pantry, with floor-to ceiling shelves—and they were packed with objects. There was a window, but little light could get through the dirt.

"What is all this stuff?" Mercedes asked. Sam swung past her to a door at the far end and opened it to see into the kitchen.

"Now, that's weird. This door has a lock on this side but not on that one."

"You don't think ghosts are strange, but a door that locks on only one side is?"

"So far I haven't seen any proof of ghosts." In the kitchen, he got a flashlight out of a drawer, then returned to shine it on the shelves in the pantry. Before them was cooking paraphernalia that seemed to cover the centuries. A rusty cast iron waffle grill was next to a hand eggbeater from the 1950s. There was a pile of blackened copper molds connected by thick cobwebs. Boxes of products, ranging from elixirs to Swans Down Cake Flour, filled two shelves. Bottles, vials, containers made of marble, pewter, glass, and unidentifiable substances were fit into every space.

"I feel like I'm looking at a sunken ship." She tried to take a breath but they'd stirred up enough dust that she started coughing.

"Come on, let's get out of here." They went into the kitchen and closed the door behind them.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Sure, but it is a bit depressing, isn't it? Whether there are ghosts or not, John Figgins closed off part of his house and didn't go in it. And all those things in there! Do you think they were given to those poor women who died so long ago? By people who saw the room as clean?" Her head came up. "Did the Tea Ladies put them away? In hope for a future they were never going to have?"

"Let's go outside and I'll tell you what Dr. Schuester told me about the garden."

She knew he was trying to take her mind off the tragic story and she was glad of it. The truth was that she'd been surrounded by so much death in her life that

the merest mention of it took her back there. When her father and Roz died in a car crash, Aphasia had fallen apart. She was just a teenager then, so most of the responsibilities had landed on Mercedes's shoulders. Choosing burial clothes and caskets—all of it had been left to Mercedes.

* * *

Once they were outside, Sam stopped and looked at her. He didn't have to be told what was in her mind. He let his crutches fall to the ground, then pulled her into his arms.

"It's okay to grieve," he said softly. "They all deserve it, but don't get it mixed up with here and now."

Mercedes held on to him, her cheek against his heart. It was good to feel the comfort. She would have stayed that way if he hadn't broken them apart.

"Come on," he said, "let's go to the gym and work up a sweat. It'll make you feel better."

Mercedes groaned. "Why did I get stuck with a jock? I'm more of a reader. Why don't we check the Internet to find out about the Tea Ladies? We could—"

"I'll fix that," he said as he picked up his crutches, leaned on them, and began to tap his phone. He was fast and he showed Mercedes the message he was sending

to his mother:

_** THIS HOUSE IS BELIEVED TO BE HAUNTED BY TWO BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMEN. THEY FIND PEOPLE'S TRUE LOVES. CAN YOU TELL US ANYTHING ABOUT THEM?**_

_** YOUR LOVING SON, SAMUEL.**_

"That should do it," Sam said. "Mom will call some of her friends and the lot of them will be up all night searching. The minute she has anything, she'll send us everything there is to know about your ghosts."

Mercedes smiled. "Curious, is she?"

"Insatiable. Now can we work out? My knee is aching."

A look of alarm ran across Mercedes's face but then stopped. "If I worked on your whole body, you'd be more balanced. You certainly wouldn't be slumping to one side and causing yourself pain, as you are now."

"I do not slump!"

"Yes, you do. You move like this." She did an exaggerated walk with the left side of her six inches lower than the right. "If you'd let me, I could straighten

that out."

Sam was frowning. "Do it again. I like the view from the back."

"You!" Mercedes said but then laughed. "Come on and I'll work on your leg."

Grinning, he followed her to the gym.


	8. Chapter 8

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

"Are you going to take the case?" Mrs. Chang asked her son, Mike. Her tone was impatient, annoyed even. But then her ambitious, hardworking son looked like he was auditioning for the role of a hobo in a 1930s movie. He was stretched out on the couch, eating potato chips and watching endless reruns of Charmed. He hadn't shaved in days. Actually, he hadn't even taken a shower in the week he'd been home.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I hate family law. All those tears and hurt feelings."

She made herself count to ten. "It's for Mercedes. She needs help. Her stepsister did yet another lowdown rotten thing to her, but this time she doesn't just need a shoulder to cry on. She needs legal help."

"Mercedes would never go to court, so some first-year student can draw up the papers. She doesn't need someone who's almost a partner to do it." He gave a little snort. "Or Mercedes could grow a pair and tell Aphasia to get out."

Mrs. Chang didn't know when in her entire life such anger had run through her. She went to stand before him, looking down as she snatched the bag of chips out of his hands.

"You may talk like that in the big city but not here and not to me. Do I make myself clear?"

Mike sat up straight on the couch and turned off the TV. "Sorry, Mom. Really, I am. I know I've been a burden to you this last week, but—"

She held up her hand to stop him. "I understand why you're wallowing in self-pity. Your girlfriend dumped you."

"Brittany was more than a girlfriend. She was—"

"The girl who wouldn't commit to you." Mrs. Chang threw up her hands.

"Mike, you are the smartest person I've ever met, but sometimes I wonder if you have any sense at all."

"Mom!" he said, sounding hurt. She sat down on the edge of the sofa. "My dear son, Brittany is a two-faced lying snake. The one and only time you ever brought her home I saw her flirting with the Nelson's oldest boy."

"Rick? I hardly think Brittany would go for someone like him."

"If you ever bothered to look past her shapeless, skinny body, you'd have seen that young Rick has grown into a real stud."

"Mom!" He was genuinely shocked. She lowered her voice.

"Mike, my dear child, if you want actual love, why don't you look around you? Maybe somewhere closer to home?"

He let his head fall back against the couch cushion. "Not Mercedes. Please tell me you aren't going to start that again! Mercedes is a nice girl. A hard worker. She

has a high pain tolerance to stand that family of hers. I'm sure she's going to make some man a wonderful wife and produce a bunch of kids who will walk all over her."

"Better that than a wife who will walk all over you!" his mother said and started to get up, but he caught her arm.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I apologize for this." He motioned to the mess of empty bags around him. But he also meant his inability to make himself return to the office where he'd have to see the woman he loved with one of the partners. He'd heard that she was now wearing a five-carat engagement ring.

"I know you love Mercedes," he said. "She's been the daughter you never had, and maybe that's the problem. She's like a sister to me."

His mother narrowed her eyes at him. "Is that so? Yesterday when Aphasia was outside wearing less fabric than it takes to make a handkerchief, that was the only time you got off the couch in a week. Is she also your sister?"

"Mom, please be reasonable. Aphasia is so hot she stops traffic."

"Mercedes is a very pretty girl, but more than that, she has a heart. She cares about people."

"Yes, she does." He gave a little smile. "I just wish I could put Mercedes's heart in Aphasia's body."

His mother did not return his smile. "I'll tell you what you're going to do— and I'm not asking for this. You are going to get up, shower and shave, then you're going to negotiate, mediate, take it to the courtroom, whatever you have to do, to solve this for Mercedes."

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but his mother kept talking.

"And furthermore, you're not going to charge her a penny for any of it."

He was looking at his mother's face. It was the one she wore after she had repeatedly told him to pick up his toys and he still hadn't done it. He didn't know what would happen if he defied that look because he'd never dared to do it.

"Yes" was all he managed to say. She gave a curt nod and got up. "I got your father's brand of shampoo. Don't use that fancy stuff of yours. It's going to take work to get you clean." She went into the kitchen. Rolling his eyes, Mike got off the couch and headed upstairs to the bathroom, all the while muttering,

"Damn it, Mercedes!" He dreaded the way she looked at him, with adoring eyes that begged him to say even one kind word to her. And his mother's insinuation that he didn't look out for Mercedes was totally unfair! For all Mercedes's life, he'd looked after her. As he turned on the water, he couldn't help smiling at the image of Aphasia in her bikini. Yesterday half the neighborhood had turned out to see her bending over the flowers. Mike wasn't sure what had happened this time between the stepsisters but he had no doubt that it was Aphasia's fault. She'd always been a conniving little brat, always planning something devious, usually with poor Mercedes on the receiving end. The day he'd arrived home after Brittany had—as his mother so inelegantly put it—"dumped" him, he'd guessed that Aphasia was up to no good. She'd been in the kitchen with his mother, sweet-talking her into lending Aphasia a tea set and asking where she could buy some bakery items. It seemed that she had an important guest coming. At the time, Mike had been too miserable to show himself, but even through his deep unhappiness, he'd realized that something was amiss. For one thing, Aphasia seemed to think men were put on the earth to do things for her, not the other way around. So why was she going to so much trouble for this one? When she told his mother the man's name, only Mike had heard of the famous architect. Why in the world was that man visiting Aphasia? he wondered.

The last thing Mike wanted to do was get involved in whatever Aphasia was up to, but he did think that Mercedes should know what was going on. On the day

the man was supposed to show up, Mike was rolling the garbage can to the curb when he saw Mercedes rushing in and out of the house and putting things in the open trunk of her car. Maybe he shouldn't have interfered, but he did. He walked across the road, meaning to warn her but dreading it. Instead, on impulse, he pulled an important-looking envelope out of her tote bag and slipped it behind the storm door. When Mercedes got to where she was going and found it missing, maybe she'd have to return to get it. And maybe she'd find out what Aphasia was up to. When Mike got out of the shower, he thought that, first, he should go over and visit Aphasia. He'd hear her side of whatever it was that happened—but he dreaded all the drama. If Aphasia didn't look the way she did, no one would put up with her. On the other hand, he couldn't help thinking of what Brittany would say if he showed up at the office with a girl who looked like Aphasia. When she was in heels, wouldn't she be about six feet? Nice heels, and a suit. Maybe something in Chanel. The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. If whatever Aphasia had done this time could possibly get her put in jail, she'd owe Mike for keeping her out. Two birds with one stone, he thought as he began to shave. Or was this I scratch your back, you scratch mine? Whatever it was, he looked forward to Brittany's face when she saw Aphasia on his arm.

* * *

When Mercedes awoke, she looked at the clock. It was five minutes before two A.M. Time for Sam's nightly demon wrestling. As she got out of bed, she thought that when she had children she'd be prepared for sleepless nights. She'd put his nightlight in the bathroom so at least she could see him. Right on time, he began to thrash. She put her hands on his shoulders, but she wasn't strong enough to hold him in place. Thinking of what they'd been told about the ghosts, maybe the name of his True Love would calm him down. Maybe his nightmares were because he missed her. But when she said the name "Tina," Sam's rolling got worse. He began moaning, then threw his hands up as though to shield his face.

"It's me, Mercedes," she said loudly. "Remember? Mercedes and Nantucket and working on your leg. And Stevie. Don't forget him."

Her words seemed to calm him, as he stopped thrashing, but he was still tense. Leaning over him, she smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "You're safe now," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

When he'd settled, she started to step away, but his hand grabbed her bare leg. "Oh, no, you don't," she said, but then smiled. It looked like he wasn't going to release her without his goodnight kiss. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. When it started to deepen and he began pulling her into bed with him, she stepped back and looked at him. With every minute of every day she liked him more—and she knew it wouldn't take much for her to fall in love with him. But then what? When his leg healed would he go jetting off with a girl who looked like Aphasia? Tall, gorgeous rich boys who spent their lives going from one pleasure to another didn't commit to short, pudgy physical therapists. They had flings, then left. No, Mercedes thought. She'd already given her heart to a man who couldn't seem to see her as anything other than the kid across the street. Sam was sleeping, so she could go back to her own bed. As she walked through the dark house, she considered the idea that the ghosts hadn't appeared to her because she'd already met her True Love. She thought of Mike, of being around him as she was growing up. He was six years older than she and she'd adored him from afar. He'd always been . . . well, spectacular. A star athlete, top grades, king of the high school prom. He got into Harvard on a partial scholarship, made great grades, and was hired by a top law firm. A true Golden Boy.

As Mercedes got into bed, she thought of Mike as the man she most wanted—a sentiment encouraged by his mother. But she knew he had never seen her as anything but the kid who was always hanging around his house. Mercedes saw him as smart and kind. Sometimes he'd come home from sports practice and she'd be in the kitchen with his mother, eating cookies, her eyes red from crying.

"So what'd she do to you this time?" he'd ask as he grabbed a handful of cookies to take to his room. He knew that Aphasia was always the cause of Mercedes's unhappiness. "Crashed my computer," Mercedes would say. Or, "Spent the money I was saving." Or the most common one, "I can't go so and so place because I have to help Aphasia with something." Mike—who had always known he wanted to be a lawyer—would say something like, "You want me to draw up a contract and send her off to work for the Snow Queen?"

His questions and his funny "punishments" always drew her out of her misery. Over the years they'd worked to come up with things they could do to Aphasia.

"I'll have her put into the body of an avatar," he said once.

"She'd never get used to being that short," Mercedes shot back.

Mike had laughed, as avatars were over eleven feet tall. If Mercedes had possibly already met her True Love, she was sure that had to be Mike. The next morning, her cell phone ringing woke Mercedes. Sleepily, she answered it to hear Sebastian's voice.

"I'm sorry for calling so early, but I'm catching a plane out of the country." Quickly, he told her that her friend Mike was going to handle the case.

"Mike agreed?" Mercedes asked, then she sat up, listened, and asked a few more questions. Sam came clumping into the room and stood at the foot of the bed.

"Sure," Mercedes said. "I'll be here. You don't have a car I could borrow, do you? I need to run some errands, and where do I buy cleaning supplies?" She

listened in silence for several minutes. "Okay. Thank you very much! And I hope you have a great flight." She clicked off and looked at Sam. "My friend Mike is going to handle everything with my stepsister. He wants to draw up some papers so it's made clear to Aphasia who owns what. And Mike is going to fix it so she never again hassles me for money." Mercedes let out her breath. "For me, it's going to be a sort of Declaration of Independence."

Sam sat down on the side of the bed. "And this Mike guy gets to be the hero. So how does he look in that big, flowing cape?"

"Mike looks good in anything." She threw back the covers and got out of bed. "And Sebastian said I could use the car of a man named Toby." Mercedes went to the bathroom and shut the door. When she came out, Sam was stretched out on her bed, hands behind his head, and staring up at the ceiling.

"Toby is a girl and she's going to marry my cousin Graydon," he said.

"Are you invited to the wedding?" Mercedes asked as she grabbed a pair of jeans.

"No, but Aunt Holly is. It's in another country, but my uncle Richard rigged up some TVs so the wedding can be streamed in live. I could get him to connect it here if you want to see it. I think it's going to be a fairly big wedding."

"That would be nice," Mercedes said. She stepped behind the bathroom door to put on underwear, the jeans, and a T-shirt, then went back into the bedroom.

"You want to get up so I can make the bed?"

"No," Sam said, still looking up. "Tell me more about this guy Mike. Can you trust him?"

"Absolutely. He knows Aphasia and the things she's done over the years, so that's an advantage to me. He won't be falling for her like you and all the other men in the world do."

"What?!" Sam sat up on the bed. "How did I become the villain in this? I've never even met your stepsister."

"No, but you keep her photos in your date book. Why? So you can drool over them?" Mercedes said before she thought, then added quickly, "None of that

matters. I need to get the car so I can go to a store called Marine Home. I have a lot of things to get."

When Sam got off the bed, he grabbed his crutches so fast he nearly fell, but he managed to head Mercedes off before she reached the stairs. "You can't accuse me of something, then walk out before I can defend myself."

"You'd only need a defense if you were being attacked—which you're not. All men make fools of themselves over Aphasia." Mercedes stopped trying to get around him and glared. "Why aren't you in the gym trying to put even more muscle on your body?"

"I slept well and late," he said. "And now I'm being falsely accused of some crime I didn't commit. Yes, I exchanged emails with your stepsister, but I thought she was you."

"And you have some gorgeous photos of her. Great. Now please move so I can leave. I have a lot of work to do today."

"On me? My leg is doing well, aches some, but I know you can fix that." He gave her a suggestive little smile.

She glared at him. "For your information, there is more in my life than just you. In a few days, my friend Mike Chang is going to come here and I want this place to look good. I'm going to buy a lot of cleaning supplies, then return here and scrub the tea room. Mike isn't the type of man to like anything as filthy as that place is. Now, are you satisfied, and can I go?"

Sam didn't move. "You're going to do all this for him? By yourself?"

"Yes." She looked at him hard—and could swear there was jealousy in his eyes.

"I'd ask you to go with me, but you won't leave the grounds, so I guess the entire project is mine alone." She turned sideways to get past him and started down the stairs.

"I'll go with you," he said.

Mercedes paused halfway down the stairs but didn't look back. "You'll drive?"

"Don't push it," he said.

Smiling, she continued down the stairs.

* * *

In the store, Mercedes concentrated on what she needed to get the cleaning done, and did her best to ignore Sam's nervousness. Before they left, she'd made a list. When she was ready to go, she fully expected Sam to chicken out. In fact, he seemed to be sweating at the prospect of going. But she said,

"Don't let me forget to call Mike's mother and get her recipe for oatmeal raisin cookies. They're his favorite."

That comment seemed to strengthen Sam's resolve so much that he went with her across Fabray Lane to Sebastian's big house. He waited outside while she got the car keys, then they walked down the lane to a small house to get the car. On the drive, he grasped the armrest at the two roundabouts, but he did well. By the time they got to the store, Mercedes was thinking, Samuel James Evans, what in the world happened to you?! The cleaning supplies were in a far corner and as soon as they were away from other people and the open space, Sam calmed considerably and they filled the big cart to the brim. On the way to the register, they bought a vacuum cleaner and many dust bags for it. When Sam insisted on paying for it all, Mercedes protested.

"Let me win something over Mike the Magnificent," he mumbled as he handed over his credit card. By the time they left, Mercedes was dizzy with hunger and she pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called Downyflake. Sam almost refused to go in, and when he did, he wouldn't sit at a table near a window. He took one in a closed corner. They had thick tuna melt sandwiches and Sam ordered a dozen doughnuts to go. On the way to the car, he offered her one.

"Mike doesn't like fat women," Mercedes said.

"You're not fat," Sam said, "and any man who doesn't like the look of you doesn't like women."

"You're sweet." She was smiling, but then said, "Oh, no! How do I get out of here?"

Two pickup trucks were on either side of the borrowed car, both parked at an angle. There was little space on the driver's side for her to get in the door.

"We'll have to wait for one of them to move."

"Give me the keys," Sam said as he handed her his crutches. He hopped his way between the car and a pickup, opened the door as wide as possible, and managed to wedge his big body inside. Mercedes stepped back as he deftly maneuvered the car out. She tossed his crutches in the back, then got in the passenger seat.

"Do you remember the way home?"

"I do," he said, but when he reached the road, he turned right instead of left.

"Where are you going?"

"Actually, it feels good to drive. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," she said and leaned back in the seat. There was a map of Nantucket in the glove box so she was able to tell him where to turn as they spent the morning exploring the island. Sam had to drive using his left leg, but he did it with ease.

* * *

On the way back, they stopped at Bartlett's Farm to load up on groceries. Sam didn't want to go in, but when Mercedes said she couldn't remember Mike's favorite cheese, he went with her.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he said.

"Oh, yeah. Next time we're going there." She nodded to the huge nursery full of plants.

"Let me guess, Mike loves flowers. Do they have any to match his superhero cape?"

"I was thinking more of matching his eyes." She laughed at Sam's grimace. She'd never had a jealous boyfriend before and she was enjoying it. Not that

Sam was her boyfriend, of course, but whatever he was, she was liking this teasing. When they got back to the house, the kitchen table was covered with one of Terry's glorious teas, this one all sweets. On the bottom plate of the tiered stack were little coconut tarts with tiny wild strawberries on top and three-inch apple pies with cheese oozing from the crust. On the top were squares of gingerbread with bits of apples and grapes sticking out.

"I bet she heard how her daughter-in-law has been bothering us and this is her apology," Mercedes said.

"Whatever the reason, I love the woman. I'm starving. Try this." He held out a mini cupcake with bits of red, ripe cherries on top. Mercedes turned away.

"I think I'll just have a salad."

Sam groaned. "Not the caped crusader again! You're fine! There's nothing wrong with your body"

"But, Mike –,"

"Look, Jones," Sam said, "between two workouts a day and all the energy you expend digging into me, you're using more calories than you take in. And when you consider the work we're going to do this afternoon—"

"I'm sold," Mercedes said as she took the chocolate cupcake and ate it in one bite.

"Divine." She sat down and began to pour the tea. As always, they ate it all. After they washed the dishes, they made a little drama of beginning the project and went outside to the double doors that led into the old tea room.

"Maybe your ghosts cleaned it up during the night," Sam said, but it was exactly as they'd left it. In fact, the light was brighter so the place looked worse. Cobwebs, grime as thick as shoe leather, the air gloomy with floating dust.

"Okay," Mercedes said, "I think we should take everything washable outside and start hosing it down. What's left inside, we'll vacuum, then hand dust."

"Good plan," Sam said and after they'd hauled the supplies from the car, they began. They put on white cup masks and opened all the windows and doors. Mercedes began taking load after load of dishes into the kitchen to wash them, while Sam tackled the pantry. At first they worked in silence, but gradually they began to talk. Sam asked her a lot of questions about her life. As she had earlier, she talked only about before her father married Roz.

"I don't understand something," he said as he raised his mask. "If your dad was gone most of the time and you just said that a lot of his work was in Florida, when your grandparents left, why didn't you go with them? Why did you stay with your stepmother, who you hardly even knew?"

"I wanted to go with them and my grandparents begged Dad to let me go, but Roz said Aphasia needed her big sister. Dad was still crazy about Roz then, so he agreed and said I couldn't leave." She gave a little laugh. "Sometimes I felt like I was being used for body parts. My function in life became to 'help Aphasia.' Helping my stepsister took precedence over schoolwork, my social life, et cetera." When she looked at him, she saw the concern on his face.

"Feel sorry for me now?"

"I don't believe in pity," he said. "I don't take it and I don't give it out."

"Good philosophy," she said. "Sometimes you just have to accept what is and live with it."

"I agree completely," he said and they smiled at each other.


	9. Chapter 9

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

At six o'clock Mercedes had an unpleasant run-in with one of the many spiders in the room and Sam gallantly saved her life—or at least that's the way he described it. When he said he had earned a hero cape, she laughed. They were both dirty and tired, but a half day's work had made a big dent in cleaning the place. When they went through the pantry to the sparkling clean, well-lit Burtchen and looked at the dirt on each other, they laughed.

"We should go upstairs, take showers, put on clean clothes, then come back down here and have a civilized dinner," Mercedes said.

"What are you? A Smythe?" Sam said as he went to the Burtchen sink, pushed up his sleeves, and began to lather his hands and face.

"You're going to have to explain to me about your relatives so I can understand these comments." Mercedes went to the other side of the big sink and took the soap from him. For all that she wanted some part of her to be clean, her job was always in her mind. She hadn't seen his bare forearms before and she couldn't help sneaking glances at them. There was a long scar running up his left arm and three small ones crossing his right wrist. When he saw her looking, he turned away and grabbed a towel.

"Smythes," he said, as though the little incident hadn't happened, "were born with a salad fork in their hands." He pulled a container of chicken out of the fridge. "At home they use real napkins that somebody has washed and even ironed."

"They sound like monsters," Mercedes said without a smile.

"They're too delicate for that. Mom said the two families are Beauty and the Beast. Guess who is who?"

Sam's hands and face were clean, but his hair and neck were coated with sweat-drenched dirt, and his heavy clothing was filthy.

"I don't know," she said as she frowned in decision, "you're kind of pretty."

Laughing, Sam bent over and kissed her neck. "You're—" He stopped because he was sputtering. "I think I got a mouthful of cobwebs."

"That'll teach you," she said as she ran a towel over her neck. "Are you going to share some of that chicken?"

After they ate, Stevie called and as always, Sam sought privacy to talk to him. But as he walked away, Mercedes heard him say that he'd driven a car.

"Yeah, Mercedes did it," Sam added. Smiling and feeling like all her late nights of studying were paying off, she cleaned up the Burtchen.

* * *

Later, after a long, hot shower, Mercedes turned in early and, as was becoming her habit, she awoke at two A.M. For a moment she thought Sam was going to forgo his nightly terrors, but at the first groan, she was by his side. She was beginning to develop a routine for calming him. Telling him he was safe and saying her name and Stevie's helped. But most of all, sleeping kisses settled him. Within minutes he'd calmed down, turned on his side, and began to sleep peacefully. She started back to her own room, but instead she paused to stroke his clean hair.

"Tell me what happened to you," she said softly. "Tell me what you went through that did this to you." But there was only silence from him, and she went

back to bed. When she awoke the next morning Sam was already at work. She dressed and went to the Burtchen, where a beautiful breakfast of cheese, pastries, and hard-boiled eggs was on the table. It looked like Terry had been there early. She opened the door into the pantry, but that was a mistake. Dust filled the air. Coughing, she waved her hand about.

"How long have you been at this?" she asked Sam, who had his arms full of animal-shaped pewter molds.

"I started before daylight," he said. "About four, I guess."

She was about to express astonishment but saw the twinkle in his eyes. "Got here ten minutes ago, did you?" she said, laughing.

"More like eight. Did you eat?"

"Just starting. Come on, the tea is hot."

After they'd eaten, they went back to cleaning. What they found in the pantry was fascinating. Items were three rows deep and they seemed to cover all the

years since the young women had died. There were iron pots and wooden implements in the back, and what looked to be Victorian gadgets in the middle. In the front was cookware from after World War II. There were even a few ration cards.

"I guess we should contact the Whaling Museum and get someone to come look at these things." Before them, spread out on the sheets they'd put on the grass, were a lot of the artifacts they'd cleaned, many of which they had no ideawhat they were. "Or maybe we should call Dr. Schuester at the NHS."

"Are you sure?" Sam asked. "Didn't he say the sailors brought the Tea Ladies gifts? If that's true, then all of this belongs to them."

"You think we should put it all back in there, don't you?"

"It's an option," Sam said. She was watching him.

"You pretend that you don't believe in them, but you do think they exist as ghosts, don't you?"

"I'd like to think there is more than just the finality of death, yes." When he looked at her, there was something in his eyes, an emptiness, a hollow place that ran through them. It was there and gone in an instant. He knows about death, has felt it, she thought. But in the next second Sam gave his devil-may-care grin and he was back to being the guy who jetted around the world from one party to the next.

"What's made you—?" she began, but he cut her off.

"You ready to hit it again?" he asked. Obviously, he didn't want to talk about anything serious.

"Shall we take on the last layer of the pantry?" She looked him up and down. The heavy sweatsuit he had on was covered in dirt and drying sweat.

"If I can stand the smell of you, that is."

Sam looked down at himself. "You're right. I'll be back in a few minutes."

She watched him disappear into the house, then sat on the grass and began to clean some more of the old Burtchen items. There were half a dozen pretty white ceramic molds that she thought were for ice cream. They had designs of fruit and flowers on the bottom. She dunked one into a bucket of warm, soapy water and began to wash it. She wondered if her ancestor Michael Jones had touched the molds. Had he eaten ice cream made from them? The thought led her to that wedding day long ago, when two beautiful young women had caught a fever and died within a week. What were they like? she wondered. Did they have dreams for the future? Were Miranda and Michael planning on living on Nantucket? Or were they going to his home in Boston? If they were leaving, what about Mercedes? Was she going too? No, Mercedes thought, Mercedes would stay with their father—which would make the wedding day sad as well as happy.

Mercedes was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear Sam approach.

"Better?" he asked from a few feet away. Smiling, she looked up at him, but her face froze. He had changed clothes. He was still covered, but he had on a thin outfit meant for jogging. The long sleeved shirt fit him snugly—and showed off muscles that curved over his body. He also wore pants loose enough to go over his brace but tight enough to show off his heavy leg muscles. When she looked up at his face, she saw his smug expression. He certainly knew how good he looked! Mercedes made herself turn away long enough to recover from her awe, then put her professional face back on.

"You'll be cooler in that," she said seriously.

"Ready to go back to work?"

Sam's smirk turned into a frown as he stepped back. "Yeah, sure." Looking a bit disappointed, he went into the house. Mercedes got up to follow him, but when she stood up, she found her knees were weak, and her skin was overheating. She leaned against the side of the building and tried to calm herself. Sam Evans looked like every movie star and professional athlete she'd ever been awed by, ever giggled about. His beautiful face was over a body that made her ache to touch him. She could feel her lips on those abs! Sam looked out the door to see her leaning against the building.

"If you're too tired to do this, I can finish by myself."

"No, no," she said as she pushed away from the wall. "What should we do next?"

"You could climb on the stepladder and hand down things from the top shelf."

"Sure," Mercedes said and he went back inside. She took a step toward the door, but then she saw the new hose and hand sprayer they'd just bought. She picked it up and sprayed herself in the face with ice-cold water. The way she felt, she could have dived into a glacial pool and turned it into a hot spring.

"Come on, Jones," he yelled from inside, and she went back into the house. When Sam's phone vibrated, he took it out of his pocket and looked at the text message. I HAVE INFO, Stevie had written. He glanced at Mercedes. She was sitting on the floor washing the legs of the tea tables. When he told her he needed to call his brother, she didn't look up, just waved her hand.

Once he was outside, he called. "What have you found out?"

"I may lose my job because I took time off to go to Boston and do some investigating for you."

"Who did you talk to?" Sam asked.

"What happened to 'Thanks, Stevie, you're the best brother anyone's ever had'?"

"Give me grief later. Right now I need to get back to Mercedes."

"Is that need or want?" When Sam was silent, Stevie knew he'd pushed his brother far enough. "I talked to Mike Chang's mother. The woman is a fountain of information. Has Mercedes told you what her stepsister did?"

"No," Sam said. "I've tried to pry it out of her, but she wouldn't give me the details."

"That's surprising. You'd think that being around someone like you, who is so open and sharing, who keeps no secrets from her, she'd blab her guts out."

"Get off it!" Sam said. "I keep secrets for a reason. Tell me what you found out."

"As you know, Sebastian was the executor of John Figgin's will and he overnighted the info to Mercedes. But it seems that her stepsister, Aphasia, opened the package, then began an elaborate scam to steal Mercedes's identity. She even sent a copy of Mercedes's passport to Sebastian but put her own photo on it. It was only by chance that Mercedes came home early and found out what was going on. So now Sebastian is determined to help her out."

Sam took a moment to catch his breath. "Her stepsister faked a passport?! Isn't that a federal offense?"

"Yeah, but Mrs. Chang said Mercedes would never press charges. She's too nice a person." Stevie paused. "I talked to half a dozen people on that road and no one had a bad word to say against your Mercedes, but they certainly had plenty to say about her stepmother."

"You mean Roz?"

"Yes. There were a lot of complaints about unmowed grass and loud parties. The neighbors said that Mercedes used to come home from college on weekends to do yard work. And after Roz and Mercedes's father died . . ." Stevie trailed off.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Mercedes quit college to take care of her stepsister. From what I was told, that first year was hell for everyone on the street—and they all agreed that the hell was caused by a teenage Aphasia. I checked out the police reports and after the parents' deaths, neighbors called 911 six times because of all-night parties. Some of them involved gangs on motorcycles. There were a lot of warnings issued before the noise finally stopped."

"Poor Mercedes," Sam said.

"She's not told you any of this?"

"Some, but not much," Sam said. "She mostly talks about her grandparents and how happy her life had been with them."

"You're with her twenty-four-seven and I've never heard you speak about any other woman the way you talk about her, but you know practically nothing about her. What are you doing with your time together?"

"Looking into some ghost story, and lately we've been cleaning." Sam wanted to get back to the subject. "What did you find out about this Mike character?"

"You're cleaning?" Stevie said in disbelief. "And ghosts? This is how you are courting this woman?"

"No one said anything about 'courting.' "

It was Stevie's turn to be silent.

"All right! So I like her. I like her a lot! She's funny and smart and caring and —"

"And not bad to look at," Stevie said.

"That too. Is this Mike coming here?"

"Yeah," Stevie said, "he is. I'm not sure when, but in a few days. His mother had some very interesting things to tell me about her son."

"Such as?"

"That he just broke up with his latest girlfriend. She said this is the third one who's left him because Mike only goes after the unattainable."

"What does that mean?"

"Seems he pursues the girls in the highest heels, the ones who are clawing their way to the top. They use Mike, then leave heel dents on him when they climb up and over him."

"Good," Sam said.

"I know what you're thinking, that if that's what he likes, he'll stay away from your Mercedes. Want to hear the best news?" Stevie didn't wait for an answer.

"Mrs. Chang has been trying to get her son and dear, sweet Mercedes together since they were kids."

"He's too old for her!" Sam said.

"Not according to his mother. She thinks Mercedes would make him a great wife and give her half a dozen grandkids. So what does your Mercedes think of him?"

"I don't know," Sam said softly.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I don't know what she thinks of him!" Sam half shouted, then calmed. "All I know for sure is that Mercedes calls him her friend and she wants the place spotless before he arrives."

Stevie drew in his breath. "You're helping her clean up the house for her boyfriend?"

"He's not—" Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "Besides being stupid about women, what else is this guy like?"

"Squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking ticket. Dad knows someone at the law firm where he works, so I—"

"You told Dad?! Please say you didn't tell Mom too."

"Sure I did. In fact, Mom's decided that her next book is going to be about a physical therapist who—"

"Spare me," Sam said. "What did Dad say?"

"Mike Chang is soon to be made a partner in the law firm. The guy is a hard worker and as honest as a lawyer can be. Those rapacious women he goes

after seem to be his only flaw. But his mother thinks that the way he was treated by this last one is going to make him change his ways. I don't know about that, but the day I was there, he was in Boston buying himself new clothes to wear on Nantucket. How are you doing in your sweats?"

Sam didn't answer the question. "What's he look like?"

"An Asian Smythe."

"That's good," Sam said. "Skinny, no muscles, washed out, bland."

"You keep telling yourself that. This guy looks great and has a good job. Just out of curiosity, have you told Mercedes how much you like her?"

"Not yet," Sam said. "It's too early and I need more time to work things out."

"I agree," Stevie said. "Take all the time you need. I'm sure there are thousands of unselfish, funny, smart, beautiful girls like Mercedes out there. And I bet that when the family starts arriving not one of the cousins is going to hit on her. What are Mason and Ryder up to now? Or does she like bulk? Hunter should fill that need. And what happens when Chang asks Mercedes out to dinner and a moonlight walk on the beach? Is she going to want to stay home with you and clean things? Or talk about ghosts?"

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" Sam said in anger.

"Just trying to get you to leave the past behind," Stevie replied with an equal amount of anger. "You have a chance and I don't want you to blow it. If I found my Mercedes, I'd go after her with everything I had."

"Yeah, well, there are extenuating circumstances. I—"

"Heard it all before," Stevie said. "The way I see it, you have just days to make her look at you as something other than her cleaning partner. I'll call you tomorrow. No! You call me when you've done something about all this. Otherwise, don't bother." He hung up.

Sam was angry after his brother's call, but when he got back to the house and saw Mercedes, he nearly exploded. She was in the pantry, on one tiptoe on the top step of the little ladder, trying to reach something at the back of the uppermost shelf. She looked like she was a quarter inch away from falling.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam bellowed, then immediately regretted it. It was the voice he used on a battlefield and at home it had sent many a child running away in tears. But Mercedes seemed unperturbed.

"I almost . . ." She stretched even farther.

"Got it!" she said just before doing what looked like a one-footed dance on the stepstool. When she went to put her other foot down, she met vacant air. As Sam lifted his arms, his crutches clattered to the floor, and he made a leap, catching her about the waist as they fell. When the dust settled, Mercedes was lying fully on top of him, her nose almost touching his.

"If you needed a hug, you could have just said so."

Sam laughed. "What were you doing up there? If I hadn't been here—" His eyes widened.

"What's wrong?"

In an instant, Sam rolled over so Mercedes was on the floor, then he scooped her up into his arms as though he was going to carry her out. It was a struggle with his leg in the long brace, but he made it. When he started to walk, she called out,

"Wait!" and he halted. "You can't carry me with your leg like that."

"I have to get you out of here!"

At his tone, she realized there was panic in his eyes. Just as she did at night, she put her hands on the sides of his head, her face close to his.

"Sam," she said quietly and with great sincerity, "tell me what's wrong."

Her words seemed to pull him out of his trance and he stared at her forehead. Reaching up, she touched her hairline and her fingers came away bloody.

"I think that box hit me in the head." He still looked worried. "Put me down and I'll get a bandage."

The light was coming back into his eyes. "There's so much dirt in your hair, it wouldn't stick. Come on, I have first aid supplies in the gym, and I'll fix that cut for you."

She could tell that he was embarrassed at the way he'd reacted, but she wasn't going to mention it. Was it her being hurt or the sight of blood that had bothered him?

They walked through the garden to the gym and Sam had her sit on the end of a workout bench. Gently, he pulled back her hair and examined her scalp.

"Will I live?" she asked, trying to lighten his mood. He seemed very serious about what was an everyday accident.

"There's so much dirt on your scalp that it might get infected. I need to clean the entire area. Come with me."

She followed him outside to the end of the gym, where he opened a door she'd not noticed before and pulled out a folding chair.

"What is that?"

"An outdoor shower," he said. "For when you come in sandy from the beach. Sit here while I get what I need."

As soon as she sat down she closed her eyes. They'd been doing heavy-duty cleaning for a day and a half now. Plus there were Sam's treatments morning

and night. Add that to his two A.M. night terrors and she was being worn down. She was half-asleep when he said,

"Lean your head back and keep your eyes closed." To her absolute delight, he poured warm water over her hair. It felt heavenly!

"This is antiseptic shampoo. It doesn't smell great, but it works."

As the shampoo—which she didn't think smelled bad at all—turned to lather, he gently began to massage her head. When he got near the cut, which she knew wasn't very big, he blew on it, as though the shampoo might burn her. It didn't, but she didn't want him to stop. He massaged around her ears, at the back of her neck, then over her scalp. His hands were strong—and accurate, she thought. As someone who'd had a lot of training in massage, she was aware that Sam knew what he was doing. She started to ask him where he'd studied, but she knew he wouldn't answer. Besides, she was so totally enjoying his touch that she didn't want to interrupt it. His hands went down around her neck, then to her shoulders. As his thumbs went into her trapezius muscles, she could feel tension leaving them. It took several buckets of warm water poured over her head to rinse it. Then slowly, he began to comb out the tangles. When he stopped, she sighed, sorry that it was over. She looked up at him.

"Would you do me the honor of going out to dinner with me tonight?" he asked.

Without hesitation, she said, "I'd love to."

"Then go put on something pretty and I'll meet you in an hour."

Mercedes practically ran back to the house and up the stairs. Of course she shouldn't go, she thought. He was a client and it wouldn't be long before he left and she'd never see him again. But still, dinner out would be nice. When Mercedes had packed for Nantucket, she hadn't thought about what she was putting in the suitcase. At the time, between an inheritance and Aphasia's latest trick, she hadn't been thinking clearly. But Aphasia'd had time to plan leaving with Sebastian. She had taken Mercedes's suitcase and carefully filled it with her own clothes and a lot of Mercedes's. When the plans had changed, Mercedes had emptied her suitcase of what Aphasia had packed and pulled her own garments from the pile. One item was a plain black sheath dress, silk, with little straps. It had been in the very back of Mercedes's closet, saved for a special occasion that had never come. Right now Mercedes was very glad she had the dress. Should she thank Aphasia for pulling it out, she wondered, and almost laughed at the idea. It took her a while to blow-dry her hair and she was almost sad to take away the reminder of Sam's washing it. As she worked, she hummed every tune from Backstreet Boys. She opened the little jewelry roll that Aphasia had filled and found things she hadn't worn in years. She chose a plain gold chain and matching earrings. When Sam politely knocked on her bedroom door, she was ready.

"Wow!" he said. "You look great. Let's stay in and make out."

Mercedes laughed. "I want dinner with wine, and you don't look bad yourself."

"Thanks," he said and let her go down the stairs before him. When they were at the front door, she handed him the car keys, her eyes daring him to say no. He'd driven before and he could do it again. As they pulled out, Mercedes said,

"Tell me about the wedding. How many of your family are coming?"

"A lot of them. Everyone loves Aunt Holly. You'll be introduced to all of them, then you'll be quizzed on the names. But if you forget every Smythe,

that's understandable."

"Poor Smythes. But I was more interested in them individually, such as . . . I know, who's the smartest?"

"My dad and his brother. But that's just my opinion and don't tell either of them I said that."

"Nicest?"

"Without a doubt, Aunt Holly."

"Best looking?"

"My brother Stevie," Sam said with a little smile.

"Okay," Mercedes said. "Who is the most interesting?"

"That would be Uncle Burt. No question about it. In spite of the fact that he's a Smythe, he's interesting because no one knows much about him, not his job, his personal life, nothing. All very mysterious."

Kind of like you, Mercedes thought but didn't say. "What do you think he does?"

"He's a spy. All of us in the family believe that. One time he showed up at Christmas with two teenagers—a boy and a girl—and introduced them as his children. The kids were very sophisticated and accomplished. They could do anything, from sports to brain games. They were quite intimidating."

"Surely not in a gym. They couldn't possibly outlift you." Sam smiled. "You have raised my ego to the sky! But alas, it's my cousin Hunter who's the winner on that score. We never saw the kids after that one Christmas. I think they thought we were barbarians."

"Even the Smythes?"

"Yes. Shocking, isn't it? You should see Uncle Burt with my mother. She quizzes him mercilessly, but he never tells her anything. We all believe her Detective Jonah, who is a retired spy, is based on him."

"Will your uncle Burt be at the wedding?"

"Who knows? My mom likes to come up with things to see if he can do them, like archery and fencing and backgammon. He's never disappointed her yet."

Mercedes laughed. "Your mother!"

"Yeah, I know." He pulled into the parking lot of the Sea Grille, turned off the engine, and looked at her. "She'll like you."

For a moment they sat in the car looking at each other and Mercedes had an almost overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss him. But then kissing Sam was a familiar thing to her, as she did it every night. She almost giggled at the thought of how shocked he'd be if she did kiss him. Smiling, she turned away and got out of the car


	10. Chapter 10

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

"So where do you see yourself in, say, five years?" Sam asked as he filled Mercedes's wineglass for the second time. He wasn't drinking. His excuse was that he was the designated driver, but really he knew better than to mix alcohol with the medications he was taking. Mercedes smiled.

"You sound like a therapist." She lowered her voice. "How do you feel about inheriting a house and a jet-setting patient?"

Sam winced. "I wish Dad hadn't sent the plane," he said. "The weight of it has leaked onto me. How are your scallops?"

"Great. Fabulous. Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Yes," he said with such a leer that she laughed. "What's your fantasy of your future?"

"I'm afraid I'm not very creative. I tend to like ordinary."

"What does that mean?"

She drank more of the wine. The beautiful restaurant, the beautiful man, and the wine were loosening her natural caution. Sam was eating in silence and waiting for her reply. She'd never seen him in anything other than athletic clothes so his crisp shirt, the jacket that she was willing to bet was made for him, the creased trousers over the brace, made him look like something out of dream. She took a breath.

"What most women want: a home, a husband and kids, a good job. See? I told you that I'm a very ordinary person."

"It doesn't sound ordinary to me. I thought women today wanted to climb the corporate ladder and become CEO of some billion-dollar company."

"Maybe they do, but it's never interested me. What about you? What do youwant?"

He almost said, To regain myself, but he didn't. "Pretty much the same thing."

"Just in a mansion with marble hallways." Sam frowned. "My family isn't like that. We—" He stopped because he wanted the conversation back on her. "You now own two houses, so what are you going to do with them?"

Mercedes groaned. "I don't know. I haven't had time to think about the future. I'd give the Boston house to my stepsister, but then she'd just sell it and—" She

took a deep drink of her wine. She did not want to talk about Aphasia!

"Any suggestions?"

"Sell the Boston house and stay here on Nantucket."

"And support myself how? Besides, the house in Boston is heavily mortgaged. When I got it, it was in bad shape and I needed money to repair it. If I sold it, I'd clear some but not a lot. So how long could I live on the small proceeds and pay taxes on the Nantucket house? And you saw the prices at Bartlett's. This island is expensive."

"It sounds like you've thought about it a great deal. Surely they have need of physical therapists on this island. Or you could work on clients in the gym."

"It would take years to build up a private practice and what do I live on in the meantime? Why are you smiling?"

"I'm impressed by how practical you are," he said, but he was thinking that she was free. "You said you want a husband. Anyone picked out?"

"No, no one," Mercedes said, but she looked away. This afternoon Mike's mother had called her.

"He's in a bad way," Mrs. Chang said, happiness in her voice.

"Oh?" Mercedes asked. "Has something happened?"

Mrs. Chang gleefully told of her son being dumped and his resulting misery. "I'm sending him to you, dear Mercedes. I'm hoping . . ." She didn't finish her sentence, but they both knew what she meant.

"A penny," Sam said and again he was frowning. Mercedes emptied her wineglass and he refilled it. "A small house," she said.

"That's what I'd want. Not one of those things with a three-story foyer and eight bathrooms. And you?"

"A big farmhouse with a porch where I can sit and watch it rain."

Mercedes thought maybe it was the most personal thing he'd ever said to her.

"And a garden with vegetables and flowers all mixed up. Did you know that if you plant basil near tomatoes, it keeps the bugs away? Or that's the theory anyway."

Sam was nodding. "And we'll enclose it in a fence with sunflowers along the back."

"They draw birds that peck at the vegetables."

"Then we'll put up a scarecrow that will frighten them away." "And I'd have a few chickens," she said. "My grandparents had hens and I gathered the eggs. I think it's good for kids to have chores and to know where food comes from. Have you ever seen a chicken up close?"

"Are you kidding?! My relatives are practically farmers. My aunt Sugar lives next door to us and she grows nearly everything our family and hers eat. I can shuck an ear of corn—and de-silk it—in less than a minute."

Mercedes was looking at him with wide eyes. "I can't imagine you doing that. Jetting about, yes, but—"

"Does owning a jet stereotype my whole family? Look," he said seriously, "my father and his brother work with money. They buy and sell things and they're good at it, but they need to be near the various stock markets. They both had the wisdom to marry women who wanted homes and families, not high society lives, so they all moved to Nashville, Tennessee, to be near the relatives. But my dad and uncle need a way to get to work. Going from Nashville to New York on commercial airlines takes a lot of time away from their families."

"So they bought their own plane," Mercedes said. "Who pilots it?"

"My cousin Madison —but only on the condition that she not do somersaults in the air. At least not if there are any passengers."

Mercedes laughed. "I like her already."

Sam looked serious. "I'm not like what you think, nor was I raised as you believe. As a kid I had chores and responsibilities."

"So why aren't you at home in Nashville with them now? Why come to Nantucket to stay with a stranger?"

"I—" he began, but then a waiter came to take their empty plates away and he didn't finish. When they were again alone, he changed the subject. "It's working out well, isn't it? You and I are a good team."

Yet again, she thought, he wasn't going to reveal anything truly personal about himself. Suddenly, Mercedes felt deflated. She hadn't realized it before, but dealing with a ghost story had provided the perfect distraction so she didn't have to think about the future. What was she going to do? Should she try to get a job on Nantucket and live in the beautiful old house she'd inherited? Or should she sell it?

"I think I've upset you," Sam said, "and I didn't mean to."

"The truth is that I don't know what to do." Maybe it was the wine or maybe it was that Sam seemed to want to hear what she had to say, but she wanted to talk. She surprised herself when she realized he was right, that she had thought about her future. He ordered a chocolate dessert and two forks and while they shared, she told him what had been going through her mind. If she got a job on Nantucket, would it pay enough for the upkeep of an old house? If she sold it, what would happen to the artifacts in the tea room? "I feel an obligation to those things since they're connected to an ancestor of mine," she said.

"I bet Dr. Schuester would have some answers to these questions." He paused.

"Nashville could use a physical therapist. It's cowboy country and there are lots of injuries. You could—"

"Be supported by your rich family?" she said with more anger than she meant. "No, thank you. I don't take charity. Are you finished? I'd like to go home now."

"Mercedes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

She stood up. "It's all right. I shouldn't have talked about my problems. This was a lovely dinner and I thank you. It was kind of you to do it." Sam paid the check, then they walked to the car, and Mercedes was embarrassed. She'd revealed too much to this man who lived in a very different world than she did. He didn't have to worry about things like where he was going to get a job or whether or not to sell a house. And from the sound of his relatives, he didn't have an Aphasia in the lot of them. When they were in the car, Sam said,

"Does your friend Mike have a place in your future?"

She started to say no, but changed her mind. "Maybe. If I'm very, very lucky."

"Nice to know," Sam said and he drove the short distance home in silence.

* * *

When Mercedes heard the first moan, she wasn't sure if it was hers or Sam's. She was so tired that she could barely open her eyes and she almost went back to sleep. But a louder groan made her throw back the covers and stagger through to Sam's room. As always, he was thrashing about.

"Do be quiet," she said, but not in her usual tone of infinite patience and understanding. She was too tired to understand anything. Dutifully, she put her hand on Sam's cheek.

"You're safe." She yawned.

"I'm here and— Oh!" Sam's big arm swooped out and pulled her into the bed beside him. In a single motion, he turned onto his side and snuggled her up against him.

"Teddy bear time," she said and for about a millionth of a second, Mercedes thought of struggling against him, but then she closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Mercedes knew she was dreaming. She was standing outside the tea room, the doors were open, and the interior was beautiful. There were four little tables in the middle of the room, each one draped in divinely thin and floaty white cotton. At the side of the room was the big dresser, its shelves filled with dishes she and Sam had found, only they were new and sparkling clean. In fact, everything was warm and inviting. But what drew Mercedes's eyes weren't the objects but the beautiful womn who was sitting on the window seat on the far side of the room. Mercedes didn't think she'd ever seen anyone as pretty. Her dark hair was piled onto her head, framing every exquisite feature on her face. Mercedes could imagine her on the cover of every fashion magazine published, and from the look of her body under that pretty silk dress, that included Sports Illustrated. Mercedes wanted to say something to the young woman, but before she could take a step, another woman, equally pretty, walked through her. Mercedes gasped in shock, but neither of the women seemed to be aware that she was there. This is a dream, she reminded herself, and stood at the doorway and watched and listened.

* * *

_"I wondered where you were," Mercedes said to her sister as she walked into their pretty tea room. She was halfway across before she saw the little man sitting in the shadows behind the far table. "Oh!" she said in surprise. Miranda was on the window seat, staring out at the garden. She had on her wedding dress, a grayish-blue silk that exactly matched her eyes._

_ "He was Portia's idea, and Valencia backed her," she said. "They insisted that I have a quick portrait done on my wedding day. Come and sit with me."_

_Mercedes stretched out by her sister, her pale pink dress a complement to her complexion, and looked at the small, dark man as he set out pots of ink. _

_"Does he speak English?"_

_"Not a word."_

_"Then his silence will be bliss," Mercedes said. "The house is already so full of guests that I want to run away and hide."_

_Miranda wasn't fooled by her sister's lighthearted tone. They'd been together every day since Miranda was born, but tomorrow she was leaving the island to live with the family of the man who would soon be her husband. She opened her arms and Mercedes put her head on her sister's shoulder. The new positioning caused a flurry of angry-sounding words from the artist, but Miranda just waved her hand. He could draw them together or neither of them._

_"How will I function without you?" Mercedes whispered._

_"It won't be for long. Michael said you're to come to us in the spring. He has a cousin who is to visit. I think Michael means to wed you to him."_

_Mercedes laughed. "He plans to turn the tables on us? Now I am to be matched with someone rather than find a mate for another? But poor Father could not bear for both of us to leave him."_

_Miranda glanced at the artist, who had stopped complaining and was now sketching the two young women. _

_"Do you think Father will show up in Boston with his great oar and pelt your suitors?"_

_"Probably," Mercedes said. "I saw him just moments ago and I've never seen anyone look so forlorn. He was in a chair by himself and brushed away anyone who came near him."_

_"After the ceremony I must remember to spend time with him. I cannot give everything to Michael. Not yet, at least."_

_When Mercedes lifted her head to look at her sister, the little man again started complaining. He wanted them to remain still. Turning back, she gave him her sweetest smile and he quieted._

_"Do you love your Michael very much?" Mercedes whispered. "With all your soul? To the end of time?"_

_"I do," Miranda said, then laughed. "I didn't at first, not like everyone thinks I did. Only you know the true story of that day."_

_"Tell me again," Mercedes said. "Tell me a thousand times."_

_"Everyone believes it was love at first sight, but Michael . . ." She waited for her sister to add to the story. They'd laughed about it many times._

_"Michael had fallen asleep at his desk," Mercedes said. "He was lying on a freshly printed woodcut."_

_Miranda smiled. "The ink had come off, and on his cheek was a picture of two geese and—"_

_"The word 'sale' written backward," Mercedes finished._

_"Yes," Miranda said. "His cheek was facing me, so only I saw it and I couldn't help staring."_

_"And everyone thought you'd fallen in love with him at first sight," Mercedes said._

_Miranda smiled in memory. "Especially Michael."_

_"But then he did fall for you the very moment he saw you."_

_"He says he did," Miranda said. "But whatever his true feelings, it gave him the courage to . . ." She took a breath._

_"Kiss you in the pantry." Mercedes sighed._

_"I will always wonder if he would have been so brave if he'd ever felt Father's oar on his backside."_

_"That sent many of our prospective suitors running," Mercedes said. "I still long for a man who dares to brave his wrath."_

_"There have been plenty of them," Miranda said. "Mark Fabray climbed up the rose trellis almost to your bedroom window before Father heard him and_

_began the chase. Mark can certainly run fast! He would have made you a fine husband."_

_"I'm not so sure. I think he and Valencia are the better match. She returns Mark's grand emotions. I prefer a quieter life." Mercedes took her sister's hand._

_"How will I have our tea parties without you?"_

_"How will I bear meeting all of Michael's relatives alone?" Miranda said._

_"They are such an elegant set. His mother got seasick just from the trip over to the island. And his sister asked how well I can play Mozart."_

_"And what did you reply?"_

_"That I didn't know any Mozart, but I could play 'Lame Sally's Jig' on a brown jug."_

_"You didn't!"_

_"No," Miranda said, "I didn't. But I wanted to." For a moment she looked around at the familiar setting and thought of all the laughter and good times they'd had there. "I will miss this room and this island every day of my life. Promise me something."_

_"Anything," Mercedes said._

_"That if something should happen to me, if—"_

_"No!" Mercedes said. "Don't think like that on your wedding day. It's bad luck."_

_"But I feel that I must say this. If all does not go well with me, bring me back here to this house, to this island. Let me rest here forever. Will you promise me that?"_

_"Yes," Mercedes said softly. "And I ask the same of you. We must stay together always."_

_Miranda kissed the top of her sister's head. "We'd better go or Father will think someone has stolen us away, and get out his oars." She looked at the little_

_man. "Finished?"_

_He nodded as he got up and put the sketch on the big dresser to dry. It was of two beautiful young women, sitting side by side, heads together, the window behind them. Beside the drawing of them was one he'd done earlier of the bridegroom. The sisters, with the artist behind them, were nearly to the door when it was flung open by their friend Valencia. She was beautiful too, but in a colorful, flamboyant way, a striking contrast to the quiet loveliness of the two sisters._

_"You must get to the church," Valencia said. "We're all beginning to think you two ran off with a couple of handsome mermen."_

_"I'd rather have Michael," Miranda said._

_"And I'm holding out for Neptune," Mercedes said. "I like his trident."_

_Laughing, they all left the room. None of them noticed the way the wind caught the pictures on the dresser and lifted them flat against the backboard. When the door closed, the papers fell straight down behind the big cupboard, hidden from view. And later, in the tragedy of what happened that day, no one thought to look for the drawings._

* * *

When Sam woke, he didn't know where he was. As now seemed to always be the case, he felt a sense of panic. Where was his gear? Where were his fellow soldiers? Where were the exits and entrances? He flung out his arm, searching for what he needed. Why had he slept?! Why hadn't he made sure that everyone was safe? When he heard a woman's soft weeping, he remembered Tina. He'd tried to help her, but a medic had held him down.

"Hold on there, sir. You can't get up. Most of you looks like Freddy Krueger went to work."

"Sergeant!" someone yelled. "Zip it!"

Sam kept trying to get up. It was his job to help, his responsibility. He owed them. They were his to protect. He flailed about until someone shot him full of morphine and he passed out. It took minutes before the panic subsided and he remembered that he was on Nantucket. He was surprised that Mercedes was in his arms, but she wasn't the one crying. She was restless, her bare legs moving against his, and she seemed to be trying to say something, but he couldn't understand her words. He wondered why she was in bed with him. Had she been telling the truth when she said she was frightened by the ghosts? Damn! he thought. If he didn't take those blasted pills to help him sleep, he would have heard her. He certainly would have known when she needed help.

"Shhhh," he said, stroking her hair back. "Be quiet. I'm here and you're safe."

"Miranda," she whispered, her voice fretful. "Miranda has died."

She was dreaming of the ghosts, he thought, and he held her close to him. Maybe she was right and they should stay at Sebastian's big house. Maybe they— He broke off his thought because there was a flash of lightning outside, and in the quick light he saw a young woman standing by the bed and looking down at them. She was extraordinarily pretty and wore a high-waisted dress that was the color of . . . What had Dr. Schuester said? Something about a storm. On her dark hair was a white veil. She was a an instant, she smiled at Sam, then nodded, as though telling him she was pleased with the way he was comforting Mercedes.

"Miranda?" he whispered and held out his hand toward her. But in the next flash of lightning, she was gone. And with her went all of Mercedes's restlessness, and she grew quiet in his arms. For a few seconds Sam was frowning, wondering what he'd just seen, but then a deep sense of calm came over him. For the first time in over a year, his mind filled with something other than the memory of guns and bombs and fear and . . . and death. As his body relaxed, he began to see a house. It was two stories, with a deep porch across the front, and to the right was a glassed-in room. He felt himself floating, hovering above the earth, and he could see inside that room. It was off the master bedroom, and he knew Mercedes had made it into a nursery. There were two cribs, but one was empty and for a moment, Sam felt the all-too-familiar sense of panic. But, no, the second crib had two little boys, identical, just as he and Stevie were. And just like them, these boys refused to sleep apart. The vision, the dream, whatever it was, made Sam feel the best he had since . . . He couldn't remember ever having felt so good. He pulled Mercedes even closer to him, smiled at the way her legs entwined with his, and fell into a deep and peaceful sleep, the first he'd had in a very long time.


	11. Chapter 11

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

"He's asleep," came the loud whisper of a little boy.

"I told you he would be," his sister replied.

"Mom said not to wake him."

She looked around. "We could knock over that chair, and that wouldn't be us. Or we could—"

"Who's she?" asked the boy. He was pointing across Sam to Mercedes's head, which was barely visible above the covers.

"The exercise lady," said the girl, trying to sound as though she knew. She was three minutes older than her brother and she took the age difference quite seriously. When she saw a little flicker in Sam's closed eyes, she knew he was awake, and she had to resist a giggle of anticipation.

"She probably got cold. Sam is really fat so she'd be warm near him. She—"

"Who is fat?!" Sam growled, then with a twist pulled them both up into the bed. The girl threw herself onto Sam and he began tickling her, but the boy stepped over Mercedes and lay down to stare at her.

"Shhhh," Sam was saying to his little sister. "Mercedes's trying to sleep. She's worn out from taking care of me."

The girl lay still on Sam's chest and looked at him with a frown of concentration. "Did you fall on the floor and roll on her?"

A flash of guilt ran through Sam's mind. When he'd first returned from the hospital had been the worst. Every noise, every quick movement, every closed-in space had set him off. But then he smiled at his little sister.

"Only twice, and you know what? She liked it."

"If she likes you, she must be crazy," his sister said seriously.

"I'll get you for that." Sam started tickling her again. When Mercedes began to wake, she thought maybe she was still in her dream. In her mind, there were homemade cakes and champagne that she knew had been brought over from France by one of the Fabrays. And she could hear children laughing. Smiling, she opened her eyes to see a little boy who looked like Sam staring at her. He had the most beautiful eyelashes. She smiled back at him. But then Sam's arm landed on her head just in time to keep another child from rolling on top of her. He moved onto his side so his whole body was pressed against Mercedes's back, and she looked into the eyes of the two children who were both fixated on her. Sam began nibbling at Mercedes's ear. She was still in such a dream state that she smiled at all of it, for surely none of it could be real.

"Are you in love with my brother?" the girl asked.

"I think she is," Sam said. "She can't stay away from me even at night."

Mercedes was coming awake. "Stop that!" She batted at his head and twisted around to face him. "For your information, I'm in bed with you because—" She

broke off, her eyes so wide they nearly touched in the middle.

"Good morning," came a deep male voice. Sam rolled onto his back, his eyes closed. "Tell me that's a recording and he's not really here."

Mercedes's first thought was to get out of bed, but she had on only a beat-up old T-shirt, and besides, Sam's heavy leg with the big brace on it was half thrown across her. She managed to sit up, a child on each side of her, and they looked across the wide expanse of Sam. What she saw were two truly gorgeous young men. They were both over six feet, broad shouldered and slim. They had on cotton shirts and trousers with a crease down the front. Their faces were like something off a runway show: chiseled, with long aristocratic noses, lips like on a Greek sculpture. One had dark hair and eyes that were almost as dark. The other one was equally handsome, but his hair was brownish, his eyes a golden brown.

"Are they real?" she whispered to the little girl. The men smiled, eyes twinkling.

"I guess," the girl said, unconcerned. "They're bad on horses, but that's because they're—"

"Let me guess," Mercedes said. "They're Smythes."

The young men laughed. "Our reputation precedes us."

The dark hair one said, "I am Mason and this is my cousin Ryder."

Sam finally opened his eyes. "I thought you weren't going to be here until next week." He sounded annoyed.

"Aunt Mary wanted to see the old house they bought," Ryder said, smiling at Mercedes, who was trying to comb her hair with her fingers.

"Who's here?" Sam asked.

"Everybody!" the little boy said as he stood up on the bed. "I'm Sean and this is Stacie. Sam and Stevie are our brothers."

Mercedes took Sean's hand so he wouldn't fall off the bed. She was still looking at the young men, smiling at them, when another man entered the room and she started blinking rapidly. He was a bit shorter than the others, but still tall. His T-shirt clung to muscles that seemed to ripple even when he was standing still. Finally, she looked up at his face. "Sweet" was the only word she could think to describe it. Short dark hair that had a bit of curl in it, green eyes, a chiseled chin. Sean yelled, "Hunter!" and launched himself off the bed. Without breaking his look at Mercedes, the man caught the boy, then nestled him in the crook of his right arm. When he held out his left arm, the girl used Sam's stomach to push off. Hunter caught her, then held both children, who snuggled up to him, faces buried in his strong neck. All Mercedes could do was sit on the bed and look across at them. There were the two elegant, lean men on the left, and on the right was the tough man holding the two beautiful children. And Sam was stretched out on the bed.

"I think I've died and gone to Heaven," she whispered.

"Out!" Sam yelled as he sat up. "The lot of you, get out!"

None of them so much as moved. "Are you and Samuel a couple?" Mason asked.

"No, not really," Mercedes said. She motioned at the bed. "This happened because we, uh . . . I mean, we . . ." She didn't want to embarrass Sam about the nightmares, but neither did she want them to think there was an attachment when there wasn't. And all in all, the beauty of all four of the men was making her a bit incoherent.

"Out!" Sam growled. "This minute."

With dazzling smiles, the three men left, and the children followed them.

* * *

When they were alone, Sam turned to her. "Why are you in bed with me?"

She didn't want to explain anything. Instead, she threw back the covers and got up.

"I need to dress. See you downstairs." She took off running. Mercedes took her time dressing. She got out the new clothes she'd bought at Zero Main and spent a lot of time with her hair. While she was dressing, she remembered her dream of the Tea Ladies. Usually, dreams faded from memory, but not this one. She remembered every second of it. As she used her curling iron, she thought of the drawings that had fallen behind the dresser. She had to see Sam! Had to tell him about her dream and they had to pull the big cabinet out from the wall to see if the drawings really were there. When she was dressed and started down the stairs, she could hear voices and laughter. Had more of the Smythe-Evans family arrived? But, no, the same beautiful men with the two children were in the Burtchen, with one addition. Sam was sitting at the table looking as though he was working hard to control his temper. Beside him was a man Mercedes had never seen before, but she already knew he must be a Evans. He wasn't as tall as Sam but did look somewhat like him, though he was heavier and not nearly as good-looking. When Mason saw Mercedes, he stopped talking and stepped back. Ryder, then Hunter, did the same thing. The children clung to Hunter, watching Mercedes in absolute silence. They formed a path so she could get to the table and the two men sitting there. What in the world is going on? she wondered as she walked forward. Sam wasn't looking at her. When she reached the table she stopped. The new guy was looking up at her in question, as though waiting for something.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Mercedes, and you are—?"

"Stevie," he said and stood up to shake her hand. "I'm Sam's brother."

After that, everyone started talking at once. Except for Sam, that is. He got up on his crutches and without even a glance at Mercedes opened the door into the pantry and went inside, shutting the door behind him Mercedes wanted to go after him and tell him about her dream, but she was surrounded by gorgeous men whose only goal in life seemed to be to please her. She was asked what she wanted for breakfast. As they began to make it, she saw that her fridge had again been filled with food. One by one the men told her about ailments and injuries they had and asked her advice on how to treat them. She was asked what she charged for a massage. After breakfast the men—except for Stevie and Sam—escorted her to the gym so she could begin working on them. They were a happy trio and she enjoyed their company, but at the same time she kept wondering where Sam was.

* * *

At lunch she managed to catch Stacie as the child was running through the garden. "Where is your brother?"

"Which one?" the little girl asked. She had a wooden sword and was waving it about in the air. "I have five of them.

"Really?" Mercedes asked. "Sam. Where is he?" "With Stevie. They're always together."

"Could you please find Sam and tell him we need to work on his knee?"

"He won't come," Stacie said. "Stevie won't let him." She went tearing off through the garden. Mercedes saw that the big red gate had been propped open so the family staying at the B&B could come and go easily. Ryder told her that guests were also staying at Fabray House, Toby's house, and at various hotels all over the island. He said all this as though it were something ordinary, but to Mercedes, with her one an only non-blood relative, it was anything but. When she remembered Sam's jokes about how he knew all about cousins and could supply relatives of any size, gender, age, etc., she couldn't help laughing. At the time, Mason was on his stomach on her massage table, his long, beautiful body stretched out and covered only by a small white towel over his behind. He was a nice man, with a dry sense of humor, and he'd complimented her on how she'd helped relieve the tension in his shoulders.

"We saw the Burtchen implements on the sheets outside," he said. "Did you find them in the house?"

Mercedes's mind filled with all that had happened before finding the artifacts. It would be too much to tell about a couple of matchmaking ghosts and her vivid dream about them. Besides, that was something she and Sam shared. Instead, she told of the locked doors and how Dr. Schuester had given them the key and they'd found a dirty room inside. Mason turned onto his back, again with only the towel over him.

"And you and Sam cleaned the place? Did you enjoy doing it?"

"We did," she said, smiling as she ran her oiled hands over his chest. He was in good shape, she thought, probably ran as well as did some sort of martial arts. His muscles were relaxed; he didn't hold the tension that Sam did. He was an easy man to work on, to talk to, and probably to get to know. But he wasn't Sam.

* * *

After lunch—eaten outside with Mason, Ryder, Hunter, and the children—she set to work on Ryder. He was in as good a shape as Mason and as likeable. Whereas Mason had an intensity about him that was almost intimidating, Ryder was all smiles and laughter. At three Hunter got on the table. By that time Mercedes was frustrated from her failure to find Sam. She hadn't seen him or his brother since before breakfast. She smiled at the sight of Hunter's big body. It was more like Sam's.

"Where is he?" she asked as she began trying to get deep down into his muscles. She didn't explain who "he" was.

"With Stevie," Hunter said. Of the three men, he talked the least, but she had an idea that he saw and heard the most.

"Is he hiding from me?" she asked, her hands paused in their work.

"My guess is yes," Hunter said.

"And the lot of you are trying to keep me entertained so I don't notice?"

"Yes," he said simply. Mercedes wanted to think that she wasn't hurt by Sam's behavior, but she was.

"Sam has—" Hunter began. She knew he was going to say "problems," but she didn't want to hear it.

"Bad manners," she said and felt a chuckle from Hunter.

"Very bad," he agreed. She did the rest of the massage in silence, mostly because she needed all her energy to dig into Hunter's thick, heavy muscles. The men insisted on taking her out to dinner and they all went to Burtty Murtagh's. It was like an old tavern and Mercedes enjoyed herself, but she missed Sam. At that thought she wanted to bawl herself out. Every female in the restaurant was looking at her with envy. With the way the children went from her to Hunter and back again, it looked like they were a married couple and the kids were theirs. In fact, more than once she caught Hunter looking at her from under his lashes in a way that made little chills run up her spine. Of the whole group of gorgeous men she'd met, he was by far her favorite. She liked his quietness, his humor, and the way he listened. In other words, whatever about him was like Sam, that's what she liked. By the time they got back to the house, the men were discussing who was going to sleep on the cot downstairs. At first she thought perhaps they believed Nantucket was a dangerous place, but then she realized that they were worried about Sam's nightmares. Maybe they were being protective of him or maybe of her. Whichever it was, she didn't like what they were saying. Against their protests, she ran them all out of the house. The two Smythes seemed ready to stay anyway, but Hunter led them away. When she went upstairs she hoped Sam would be there, but he wasn't. The house was eerily quiet and she didn't like that. He had been there since the first day. It was their house, not just hers. As she took a shower, she tried to get herself under control. She'd known from the beginning that Sam Evans wasn't for her. All day his cousins had mentioned schools and countries and events, even sports, that she'd only read about. Once Sam's leg was healed he'd get on the family jet and she'd never see him again. At best, she'd get a Christmas card. When she got out of the shower, she put on a pair of pajamas instead of her usual big T-shirt and headed for her bed. But she wanted to know if Sam had returned. His bed was empty. All her resolve left her.

"Damn you, Stevie!" she said aloud, then told herself to calm down. The main question was why she was so upset that Sam wasn't there. It wasn't as though they were a couple. She'd told his cousins that and it was true. She went back to her own bed and was asleep almost instantly. As had become a habit, she awoke at two A.M. and lay there listening, but she heard nothing. No moans or groans. She turned on the light and went through the sitting room to Sam's bedroom. His nightlight was on, but his bed was empty. On impulse she opened his closet door. Had he packed and gone back home to Tennessee? Would she get a card from him saying thanks, he'd had a good time? But his clothes were still there, mostly sweatsuits big enough to cover up even him, and the one nice outfit he'd worn to dinner. On the back of the door was one of those big terry cloth robes and she put it on, pausing for a moment to snuggle it around her body. Barefoot, she went downstairs and it too was empty. He wasn't sleeping on the narrow cot. When she noticed a light on in the tea room, she opened the door. In the far corner of the room was a tall, gray-haired man wearing an elegant blue silk robe and slippers. He was sitting on the old couch and reading.

"Ah," he said when he saw her, sounding as though she was the person he most wanted to see in the world.

"You're either a ghost or Uncle Burt," she said. He put his book and reading glasses down and stood up.

"How perceptive of you, and tonight I feel that I may be both of them. The tea is hot and I find the accompaniments delightful. Perhaps you'd join me."

"I would love to." She sat down on one of the chairs while he poured and served. Mercedes tucked her feet under her and looked around the room. She hadn't really looked at it since she and Sam had cleaned it. In the dim light from the table lamp, the room was quite pretty and very looked back at Burt.

"I guess we should exchange proper introductions. I'm Mercedes Jones"

"And as you deduced, I am Bentley Smythe, commonly referred to as Burt." He smiled. "Or Uncle Burt. There, now that that's done, why are you wandering about at this time in the morning?"

"Looking for Sam. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I'm sure my nephew is with Stevie, but where they are I don't know." He put his teacup down. "As for my inability to sleep, may I confide in you?"

"Please do."

"First of all, I must apologize for trespassing. Sometimes I find the boisterousness of my family more than I can abide. When I was told that you had run everyone out of your house, I felt I'd heard of a kindred spirit."

Mercedes smiled. He was a very handsome man, sixtyish, and there was something about him that made her feel safe and comfortable.

"I found the door to this room unlocked and came in here and slept." He nodded toward the window seat, where there was a pillow and a blanket. "But I

was awakened by a dream of—"

"Let me guess," Mercedes said. "Two fabulously beautiful young women with Playboy bunny bodies." She sipped her tea. "Just a guess."

For a second Burt looked astonished, then he laughed. "My life has been such that I'm not easily surprised, but you have done so. I am intrigued. Have you too dreamed of them?"

"Yes, but I've also heard their stories. Perhaps . . .?"

"Perhaps I would like to hear? Oh, yes, very much."

It took Mercedes nearly an hour to tell all she knew about the ladies. Burt asked a question now and then.

"Has Sam heard from his mother about her research?" "And you say it was a box that hit your head? What was in it?"

"Are the drawings actually behind thedresser?"

The answer to each question was "I don't know."

"How very interesting," Burt said when she'd finished, and poured them more tea. "Don't you think it's also interesting that after over an hour the tea is still hot

and the cakes and cookies are still plentiful?"

"It's always like that. We'd come into the house to find that our neighbor had set up a lavish afternoon tea for us. Sam eats a lot, but there was always enough, and yes, the tea stayed hot." She looked at him. "I'm sorry, but I didn't allow you to tell about your dream."

"It was quite simple. There were two beautiful young women and one said, 'You must find Michael's cousin.' I felt she was speaking to me. That was all. The total of it."

"I wonder if that's the cousin Michael was going to introduce Mercedes to?" she said, referring to her own dream.

"I'll have to ask Holly to look into that. She's the family's genealogist. Ah, but wait, this is her wedding. No doubt she'll be quite busy. Have you met her?"

"No. I have been surrounded by men all day. Hunter said they were keeping me entertained so I wouldn't notice that Sam wasn't around. But I did notice!" She said the last with such vehemence that she was embarrassed. "Sorry. It's just that I need to treat his knee."

"Yes, of course." Burt was smiling. "May I give you some advice?"

"Please do."

"My family isn't for cowards."

She waited for him to expand on that comment, but he didn't—and she had no idea what he meant.

"Now, my dear," Burt said and his tone was dismissive, "I think we should try to get some sleep before dawn. I'm sure Mary's youngest hellions will escape and

be here as early as possible. They seem to be fascinated with the 'exercise lady' who has all the young buck cousins coming over here."

"Just out of curiosity, are there any females in your family? Other than Stacie, that is."

"Actually, there's a rather interesting assortment of females, and I'm sure they'll start showing up soon. And Mercedes, dear?"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps we should keep this"—he waved his hand to include the room—"to ourselves as best we can. However, tomorrow I shall harness the brawn of a few Evanses to move the cabinet to see what's behind it."

"And I'll find the box that hit me on the head."

"And I'll see what Mary has found out."

"But please remember that Sam is in on this too," Mercedes said. "He's to be told everything."

For a moment Burt looked at her as though trying to figure out something.

"What do you like most about my damaged nephew?"

"Among other things, he makes me laugh."

For the second time, there was a look of astonishment on Burt's handsome face. "That is an excellent answer, and certainly one I wouldn't have predicted.


	12. Chapter 12

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it. So, this is my most favourite chapter out of all chapters. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

* * *

By four that afternoon, Mercedes was ready to lock the garden gate and put up a no trespassing sign. An endless stream of male wedding guests had come to her asking for appointments for treatments, advice about injuries, and massages. They had each paid her asking price and tipped her generously. But as far as Mercedes could tell, they really just wanted to meet her. Why?! she wondered. It wasn't as though she was ever going to be part of their family. Not that she'd mind that. All the men were very nice, good to look at, intelligent, educated, and very courteous. Except for Stevie. She didn't like him at all. She knew that some of the animosity between them was her fault. By the afternoon, her arms and shoulders were aching from one massage after another.

At one point there were three young men sitting under the arbor, each one wearing nothing but a towel. They'd rinsed off in the outdoor shower, but rather than get dressed, they'd tied towels around their waists and waited for their turn on Mercedes's table. They were all so very polite that when she got to Stevie, she was shocked by his attitude. As soon as he stretched his nude body out on the table on his stomach, he said,

"What are your intentions toward my brother?"

It was late in the day and she was tired. "To kidnap him and steal his jet," she said before she thought. Mercedes knew Sam would have laughed at that. But Stevie didn't. When she felt his muscles tighten under her hands, she sighed.

"I have no 'intentions' of anything except rehabilitating his knee. He has now missed several sessions, plus his breathing exercises. He needs them!"

"What does that mean?"

Mercedes frowned. Maybe his animosity came from jealousy. Stevie wasn't as handsome as his brother or as well built, and she was beginning to think that he didn't have a whole lot of brains. She spoke slowly and distinctly.

"Sam hurt his knee skiing, he's had surgery, and he needs to get his knee working again. I was hired to help with that."

"I mean the breathing exercises," Stevie snapped. "What are they for?"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "To help him breathe."

"Why were you in bed with him?" Stevie asked, his tone that of the law enforcement officer she knew he was. She had no doubt that he wanted to know about Sam's nightmares. Last night she'd realized that his family knew of them, but there was something in her that didn't want to report on them.

"Fabulous sex," she said. "All night long."

Clutching the single towel, Stevie turned over on the bench, sat up, and glared at her.

"I don't appreciate being lied to."

"And I don't appreciate your attempt to use me as a spy. We're done here."

She grabbed a towel, wiped her hands, and walked away. One of the men asked her if she was okay, but she just kept going. When she got to the house she went around to the side, to the tea room. Maybe it would be quiet in there. Somehow, she wasn't surprised to see Sam standing by a table that had one of the lavish teas on it. Had Terry come by in her little cart?

"Where have you been?" she shot at him, anger in her voice.

"You've had a bad day, haven't you?" When he saw tears come to her eyes, he leaned his crutches against the wall, opened his arms to her, and she went to him. He held her, her face against his chest, and she could hear his heart pounding. His big, hard body was like an island of calm in the turmoil of the last two days. Much too soon, he held her away from him and looked at her as though trying to read her mind.

"Come on," he said softly. "Terry brought us tea, so sit down and tell me what you've been doing." She didn't move and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her But he didn't kiss her.

"You look exhausted."

"Thanks," she said in sarcasm. "Looks like my hour with a curling iron was wasted."

Laughing, Sam held out a chair for her. "Are you kidding? The cousins are raving about you. They think you're beautiful and smart and that you have magic hands."

Mercedes poured the tea. "Your brother hates me." When Sam said nothing, she glared at him. "You're supposed to say that he doesn't hate me, that he's . . . I don't know, cautious or something."

"It's more like he's protecting you from me."

"Would you please reassure him that I'm not really planning to kidnap you or seduce you or whatever just to get the family jet?"

Sam nearly choked on one of the anise seed cookies he liked so much. "Is that what you told him you were going to do?"

Mercedes shrugged, then looked at Sam. "More or less. Too much?"

"For him, yeah." Sam was still laughing.

"Think he'll put me in handcuffs?"

"What an enticing vision," he said softly and gave her a look of such heat that the hair on her neck seemed to stand up straight.

"Sam . . ." she whispered and leaned toward him. Instantly, he moved away and his face changed.

"So tell me who you've met."

It took Mercedes a moment to calm herself. Okay, she'd missed him, but that was her problem, not his. He was her patient and maybe, possibly, they could become friends, but that's all there ever would be.

"Your uncle Burt." She was pleased to see the surprise on Sam's face.

"I didn't even know he was here."

"That's because you ran away somewhere. If you'd stayed here and let me treat you, you'd have seen all your male relatives. Tell me, how does your family reproduce without any women?"

The smile came back to him. "The women are drowning in wedding activities: cakes and flowers and who sits where and—I don't know. I told Aunt Holly to come find you. I think it's all too much for her."

"Yes, do send her to me."

Reaching out, he smoothed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I still want to know why you were in bed with me."

She thought quickly. "I heard a noise and when I went to see about it, you pulled me into bed with you. You'd worked me so hard that day I was too tired to get up." She stared at him, waiting for him to question her more. Sam took his time before he spoke again, seeming to decide whether or not to pursue that.

"When did you see Uncle Burt?"

"Two A.M., in here. We had tea together. Seems he's been dreaming about the Tea Ladies."

Sam's eyes widened. "Yeah? About what?"

Mercedes opened her mouth to tell him all, but didn't. "I'm not telling you anything until I see you on the table. I want to look at your knee, and you're slumping to one side again. And—" She narrowed her eyes at him. "And I want your clothes off."

Immediately, he stiffened in the chair. "You haven't had your hands on enough men in the last few days?"

"Yes, I have, and they're all flawless specimens of mankind. I've never before seen such perfection. They don't need anything from me."

"But I do?" Sam had his head down and his voice was low. She put her hand over his. "Yes, you do. You carry a lot of tension in your body and I could help you."

Sam stood up so abruptly that his chair fell backward and hit the floor hard. When the sound echoed in the room, he grabbed a crutch in a way that looked like he was about to defend the two of them from something. Mercedes stared at him in astonishment.

"Sam! Are you all right?"

It was a while before he seemed to know where he was. He picked up the other crutch and leaned on them. When he looked at Mercedes, his expression was cold, distant.

"I don't need help. I don't need pity. I don't need—" Breaking off, he quickly went across the room and left, the double doors slamming behind him. Mercedes was stunned. She had no idea what had just happened. What had made him so angry? Usually when she asked if he needed help he smiled and said yes. In fact, he pretended to need her help with his crutches, with walks around the garden, to go up and down the stairs. So why was he different now? Stevie! she thought. He was what had changed everything. As soon as he'd arrived, he'd scooped up his brother and taken him away. Was he jealous? Did Stevie resent that Mercedes and Sam were . . . what? Becoming friends? But didn't Sam say that his brother was the reason he was here? Mercedes sat at the table, feeling stunned. She didn't know what was going on. When she reached for the teapot, her hands were shaking, but then the tea was icy cold.

"It's the way I feel," she whispered. She put her face in her hands and for a moment she let herself shed tears. She looked about the pretty room.

"I don't know if there are ghosts here, but I'd certainly like some help right now. Everything in my life is changing and I don't know if it's for good or bad. I like this man Sam a lot. I tell myself he's not for me, but then I see him and . . . I don't know, I'm drawn to him."

She paused, feeling silly for talking to nonexistent people, but she couldn't seem to stop.

"Dr. Schuester said that only people who have not met their True Loves can see you. Since I can't, I guess I have met him. He's Mike, of course. The man at the top of the heap. Incomparable and perfect."

There was only silence. But saying her feelings out loud had made her feel better. She took a few deep breaths, then stood up. As she glanced at the cold teapot and the uneaten food, she knew she should clean up, but she didn't. She just wanted to lie in a tub of very hot water and think about nothing at all. When she went through the door into the Burtchen, Hunter was there. His face lit up when he saw her, and she couldn't help thinking how simple it would be if she turned her attention to him. Hunter was pleasant company, gorgeous, etc. But all she did was give him a weak smile and wish he'd go away. He understood.

"I'll clear everyone out," he said. "Rest. You've done a lot today."

"Thank you," she said and by the time she got upstairs she could feel the emptiness of the house.

* * *

She filled the tub with water as hot as she could stand and stayed in it until it was cold. While in there, she reached a decision. She would forget the personal aspect of her relationship with Sam and concentrate entirely on the professional one. She'd been hired by his family to rehabilitate his injured knee and that's what she was going to do. Burt had said, "My family isn't for cowards," but she was being a coward. She was letting a bunch of very charming men distract her from her purpose of making Sam better. And the worst of these distracting offenders was Stevie. As she dried off and put on her pajamas, she made a vow that tomorrow she was going to do whatever was necessary to get to work on Sam. Neither his quick temper nor his brother's grouchiness nor the delightful interference of all his cousins was going to keep her from her goal. By the time she got into bed, she felt much better—except for the loneliness of the empty house. Why did it seem so small when Sam was there and so big when he wasn't? Think professional! she thought as she snuggled down and went to sleep. But as always, she awoke at two A.M. and before she thought, she started to get out of bed. Then she seemed to see and hear the swish of a silk skirt, and as a great calm came over her, she lay back down. When she awoke again, she looked at the clock and saw that it was almost six A.M. Usually, she would have gone back to sleep, but she was wide awake.

"Sam!" she said and got out of bed. He worked out at this time so maybe he was in the gym now. She practically ran to the bathroom, hopped about on one foot as she put on underwear, then shorts, a shirt, and sandals. As she hurried down the stairs, she was tying her hair back in a ponytail. She ran out the back door, across the dew-covered grass, and the first person she saw was Stevie. He was outside the gym, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, and he was towel-drying his hair. He looked as though he'd just stepped out of the shower. When he saw Mercedes, his eyes widened, and he gave a furtive glance at the outdoor shower. It didn't take much for Mercedes to put it all together. Sam and Stevie had already finished their daily workout, Stevie had showered, and now Sam was in there. Mercedes headed toward the shower. She didn't know what she intended to do, but she was going to stop this nonsense right now. Stevie put his big body in front of her.

"My brother wants privacy," he said in what could only be described as a growl. She glared up at him.

"Yeah? Well, I want to do my job! Move."

He was a big man and he stayed where he was. He was as determined to not let her pass as she was to get around him. They glared at each other, neither of them backing down. It was Sam who solved the problem. He threw back the wooden door and stepped onto the stone pavement. A towel was wrapped around his waist and the brace covered his right leg, but the rest of him was bare. At last, Mercedes saw what he'd been keeping secret. His body from the waist up to his shoulders, as well as his left leg, was a mass of scars. There were gashes and dents, places that had skin grafts. It looked as though he had been flayed with metal claws, his skin torn off in rows, then sewn back on. At her first sight of the mutilation of what had once been a beautiful body, Mercedes thought she might faint, or cry, or throw up. Or all of them. Sam was drying himself and she was hidden behind Stevie, so he didn't know she was there.

"I'll take you back to the house," Stevie said, his voice barely a whisper. She looked at him and what she saw there made her want to slap him. There was a sneer of disgust on his face. He was assuming that Mercedes would now want to run away. She didn't say anything, just quickly stepped around him and went to Sam. When he saw her, his face drained of color. For a moment his eyes dared her to say anything, but then he straightened and stared ahead at nothing. As he stood at attention, she walked around him and looked at his wounds. Most were skin-deep, but some went down to the muscles. She couldn't imagine his pain during the injuries, the subsequent healing, and the rebuilding of his body. When she got back to his front, he was still looking over her head. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the first move, but the emotion that was building inside her was overtaking her sympathy. She was remembering all the tricks and half-lies that had been played by him to cover what she was now seeing. Reaching out, she put a single fingertip at the end of one long scar that ran from his shoulder to his stomach.

"Soldier?" she asked.

"Yes." He didn't look at her. A movement caught her eye. Ryder, Mason, and Hunter were coming through the gate. They had helped Sam in his lies.

"You have one hour to get off my property," she said as she started toward the house. Stevie was there, but she didn't look at him. She was walking fast, her steps full of the rage she was feeling. Sam caught her arm.

"What do you mean?"

Mercedes stopped but didn't look at him. "You heard me. Go away. I never want to see any of you again."

"I understand," he said. "I disgust you."

She turned back to him. "Don't speak to me in that tone! You have insulted me—insulted my professional abilities. You have humiliated me." She glared at him. "You have betrayed me." She started walking again. He stepped in front of her, blocking her.

"What are you talking about? How have I betrayed you?"

His scarred chest was directly in front of her. "What did you think would happen if I saw you? Saw this?"

"That you'd feel sorry for me." His voice was soft.

"Right. As I said, you have insulted my entire profession." She tried to step around him, but he wouldn't let her pass. She halted, her arms folded over her chest, but she wouldn't look at him.

"Mercedes, please, I just didn't want you to . . . to . . ."

"To what? To be able to help you? Did you think I was one of those bimbos you meet when you're jetting around the world? But wait! That's a lie too, isn't it? You wanted me to think you were some rich playboy who took up space on the earth. You hid the fact that you are a soldier! Not knowing the cause of your physical problems has hindered me greatly."

She turned back to look at the four men standing to one side and watching them. They all seemed to be astonished by her reaction.

"All of you helped him conceal this from me," Mercedes said, so angry she could barely speak. "You gave me this job, then wouldn't let me do it. I want all of you gone. Now!" She started walking. Sam ran after her on his crutches. When Mercedes got to the house she didn't go into the Burtchen. For all she knew there might be people in there. Instead, she went around to the side and threw open the doors to the tea room. Thankfully, it was empty. Sam was right behind her.

"I never meant to hide anything," he said, his voice genuinely contrite. "I just wanted to be normal, that's all. My family treats me like I'm a delicate piece of glass that's about to shatter if they breathe too hard."

She turned to him. "Normal? You think this situation is normal?! You're isolated with your own private physical therapist. I needed to know about your injuries, but you played a childish game of hide-and-seek. Tell me what's normal about that!"

Sam hobbled over to be closer to her. "It's not the physical therapist part that's the problem, it's just that you're so pretty, so desirable. From the moment I saw you I have been out of my mind with wanting you." He was smiling at her so very sweetly.

"So now I'm supposed to fall into your arms?" Mercedes said. "Is that what you think I'm going to do? You admit you're willing to jump into bed with me and I am supposed to instantly forgive you?"

"Well, I did think it would make a difference if you knew and I thought . . ."

He could see that every word he spoke was making her even angrier. For a second he seemed to hear Dr. Schuester's laughter at him, saying he'd never been "on the receiving end of a woman's rage over a man's prevarications." And it was true that he didn't know what to say or do to make her forgive him. When he made a step toward her, she backed up.

"Mercedes, please let me explain," he said. "I thought—" He broke off because his three cousins were outside the window behind Mercedes. They were holding up pieces of paper with words on them. Ryder's said "Apologize." Mason had written "Grovel." And Hunter's paper said "Tell her you're wrong."

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I was wrong. I thought of myself and that's all."

"Yes, you did!" Mercedes said. "You were utterly selfish."

He took another step toward her, but again she stepped back.

"I just wanted some time away from pity, that's all," Sam said and the words were from his heart.

"So you let me nearly go crazy wondering what was wrong with you? All because you thought I'd pity you?"

The men outside were nodding at this. "Yes, I did," Sam said, his head down.

"You had no respect for my profession."

Outside, the men nodded in agreement.

"I'm really sorry and you are right. I didn't respect you or your expertise and I thought of no one but myself. It's just that—" He stopped when the men started vigorously shaking their heads no. Hunter made the motion of zipping his mouth closed. As Mercedes looked at his nearly bare body, a tiny bit of anger left her. He still had on only the towel and the brace. Up close, the gashes and cuts were worse than they'd first appeared.

"So what else is there? PTSD?"

"Yeah. I'm—" Sam stopped talking.

"When the gate slams?"

"I go into a stance of defense," he said.

Mercedes nodded. "Your fear to leave the grounds?"

"Crowds, strangers, places I don't know, they all . . ." He took a breath. This wasn't easy for a man to admit. "They scare me."

"What medications are you on?"

"For sleep, anxiety, depression." He paused. "But Mercedes, since I've been with you, I've tapered off. You've been the best thing that's happened to me. You—" When he stepped closer to her, this time she didn't back away.

"Wait a minute! You told Dr. Schuester, didn't you? You told a stranger what you were going through but not me. No, you let me try to figure it out. I'm here to help you, but you wouldn't even take off your shirt. You . . ." He was only a few feet from her and the thought of what he'd been through was beginning to sink in. Anger was being replaced with tears.

"Mercedes, I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Really, I am. I just wanted you to see me as a whole man, not as damaged. I didn't want you to think of me as less than a man."

Some of her anger returned, but it was different. "Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds? You're more of a man than anyone I've ever met. You care about . . . about everyone. You're funny and smart and . . . I thought we were becoming friends. But you ran off with your brother and left me alone with your naked cousins."

It was sinking in to Sam that she wasn't going to feel sorry for him. Stevie had talked him into staying away for a couple of days to give them both time to think. But Sam had agonized over her meeting men who weren't damaged by war and life. And she had reduced them to "naked cousins." He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or cry in joy. He motioned for the guys to leave, then took a step toward her.

"I did a stupid, selfish thing because I didn't know women like you existed. I assumed you were like everyone else and would be sickened at the sight of me." His heart was in his words. His pride, his very manhood, was there. To admit his failings was almost as painful as the wounds on his body.

"Mercedes, I have problems, deep ones, and I honestly don't know how to handle them. I can't sleep well without pills. I—"

"You don't sleep very well with them," Mercedes said. "If it weren't for sleeping kisses, you would have fallen out of bed the first night I was here."

Sam's eyes widened. "Sleeping kisses?"

"At two A.M. every morning I'm at your bedside trying to get you settled. The only thing that works are kisses and hugs. And sometimes sleeping with you like I'm your favorite stuffed toy. You're like a toddler. Except for—" She couldn't keep up her bravado. Reaching out, she put her hand on his chest, on the ridges and dips of the scars. Some of them were burns. "I could have helped you," she whispered.

"I know that now, but I didn't then." He touched her earlobe. "You're so beautiful, but I'm so . . . so repulsive. My cousins are perfect and I'm—"

"More interesting!" Mercedes said. "They are perfect. They haven't a mark on their flawless bodies, but you . . . You've done something for other people and for your country. You . . ." She was fighting tears. "You're more of a man than they will ever be."

When Sam held his arms out to her, there were tears in his eyes and she went to him. For a moment he held her as he had before, as friends, and her mind was on what he'd been through. But as they stood there, bodies entwined, Mercedes became aware that at some point Sam's towel had fallen off. And he was ready for her. She could feel the hardness of him through the thin fabric of her shorts. It looked like some parts of him weren't damaged! When she pulled away, she meant to make a joke. But the look in his eyes erased all thoughts of humor. It had been a long time since she'd had a boyfriend and Sam Evans was a very desirable man. For a moment his eyes searched hers and she knew that "yes" was written in them. Bending his head, he kissed her, but only for a second. He drew back and looked at her in shock.

"I remember!" he said. "I remember the taste of your kisses."

She started to smile, but Sam's passion took over. Within seconds, she was bare from the waist down and her shirt was open. Never before had she experienced such desire, such energy and excitement. He moved her out of sight of the window, pressed her back against the wall, and pulled her leg up to his hip. She wrapped it around him. He entered her with a force that she'd never felt before, and she gave a sigh.

"Ooooooh." It seemed that every part of Sam's body was big.

"Did I hurt you?" He sounded alarmed.

"Oh, yeah," she said, her head back against the wall, her eyes closed. "I might not survive." He gave a low chuckle.

"Me neither." He put his mouth on her neck. Hard, deep thrusts sent chills of pleasure through her body. Desire—need— flooded her. He picked up her other leg so she was fully clasping his hips as he thrust into her again and again. All thought, all sense of being a human, seemed to leave Mercedes as she gave herself over to this man. Mind, body, soul became feelings, sensations. With her upper back against the wall and her legs around him, she lifted her arms. The leverage made his thrusts even deeper. When the end came, waves of pleasure and release went through her. She went from being a tower of strength to her body collapsing. If Sam hadn't held on to her, she would have fallen, but his arms went around her and pulled her against his bare chest. He took the few steps to the old couch and stretched out on it, his braced leg extended and touching the floor, with Mercedes on top of him. She still had on her bra and shirt but was nude from the waist down. As they lay there, his hand caressed her lower half, enjoying her curves. As for Mercedes, it took her a while to recover. She was floating in a delicious haze of sensations, and she couldn't seem to return to the world.

"All right?" he whispered.

"Yes." His chest was so very warm. It wasn't smooth, but she could feel the strong contours of it. She ran her hand over his ribs and down to his side, over the thick scars there. Very slowly, she remembered where she was—and who she was. She had just broken a rule of her profession about sleeping with a client. She didn't want to, but she made herself get off his big, warm body and sit on the edge of the couch, her back still touching him. There was a pillow on the floor and she pulled it onto her lap, then started to button her shirt—which was a useless endeavor as most of the buttons had been torn off. She saw one glistening on the floor by the wall where they'd just— She took a breath. There were things that had to be said and she dreaded his response.

"This can't happen again," she said softly. "We aren't—"

"Going steady?" he said cheerfully. She looked at him in surprise. In her experience, when you told men there wouldn't be any more—even if it was mutual—they got angry. But Sam was smiling at her. He was stretched out on the couch, one big, muscular arm behind his head, and he had a little smile on his handsome face. She couldn't help a bit of a frown.

"You agree?"

"I understand," he said. "You don't think there is any future for us, and I'm your patient. And besides, you have a guy from back home coming to visit any day. You don't want any complications."

"Right," she said. That was exactly what was in her mind, so why was it so very annoying when he said it?

"I have a question," Sam said. "Did you persuade me into moving into the upstairs bedroom so you wouldn't have to wander around in the dark? Because of my nightmares, that is?"

"That's right."

"You made up the lie about being scared of the beautiful Tea Ladies just to save yourself the trek?"

Her frown left her and a smile began. "Yes, I did. I flat out told a going-to hell lie, and my toes thank me for it. Actually, my whole body thanks me, since I spent the first night on the couch. I nearly froze!"

A look of such softness came to Sam's face that she almost bent forward and kissed him.

"Thank you," he said. "Hand me the towel, will you? Unless you want to have some more friendship sex."

She knew what he meant, that he was ready again—and she didn't dare look or she just might climb back on top of him.

For a few moments their eyes locked and Mercedes felt herself weaken. Even as she knew she shouldn't, she leaned toward him, her eyes beginning to close. But abruptly, Sam sat up, causing Mercedes to nearly slide off the couch. His strong arm caught her as he moved out from behind her. She fell back against the couch and watched him walk across the room in all his naked glory. So there were a few indentations, she thought. Well, maybe more than a few, but they didn't take away from his beauty. He wrapped the towel around his waist, then turned back to hand her her garments. Mercedes still hadn't moved. What just happened didn't seem to have affected him at all but it certainly had her. But then hadn't she always thought he was just a playboy who jetted around the world? Maybe he was used to this kind of thing. But today she'd found out he'd been a man who'd served his country and had nearly died from it. The two images didn't seem to go together. Who was the real Sam Evans?

"I'm going upstairs to put on some clothes," he said. "I don't like the kids to see me like this. You still want to work on me on your table?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'll meet you at the gym in an hour."

Before Mercedes could reply, he went through the door to the Burtchen and closed it behind him. After she was dressed, she looked about the empty tea room. What an understanding man Sam was! she thought. They'd been caught up in the moment and had sex. It was, of course, understandable, born out of a combination of emotions. For one thing, she'd just discovered what he'd kept secret, then she'd seen the evidence of his severe injuries, and they'd had an argument. Anger always got the blood flowing, didn't it? All in all, it made sense. Any two healthy young people, with him wearing only a towel—which had slipped to the floor, no less—would have done what they did. It was natural. If it had been Sam's cousin Hunter, it would probably have happened. Even as she thought that, she knew it wasn't true. She'd wanted Sam from the day she'd looked out a window and seen him. So it had happened and now it was done with. And as Sam had said, Mike was coming in a few days, then they would . . . Who knew? But if everything was all right, why did she feel like she wanted to yell at Samuel James Evans? Bawl him out? How could he just leave that way? He'd acted as though nothing had happened. He'd even spoken of turning her over to Mike. Didn't their making love mean anything to him?!

"Men!" she said aloud, then went into the Burtchen. She closed the door behind her just a little bit too hard. No windows broke, but they certainly did rattle. Upstairs, Sam felt as well as heard the door slam with the force of a storm, and for the first time since he got out of the hospital, he didn't jump. Instead, he smiled. His worry had been her reaction to his body, but now that that was settled, there were no more obstacles. At least none that mattered. An Asian Smythe lookalike didn't even count. Still smiling, he got into the shower. He wanted to be very clean for the coming massage.


	13. Chapter 13

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

When Mercedes got to the gym, Sam was already on the massage table, face down,

only a skimpy towel covering part of him. The sight of him put her mind back on

her work and she was once again a professional. She began to run her hands over

his back, assessing the scars and thinking how she was going to work on him.

"How did this . . .?" She didn't complete her question.

But he knew what she was asking. "Humvee exploded. One leg and my head

and shoulders fell under my buddy's body or they would have been sliced and

diced too."

"And your friend?"

"Didn't make it."

"Is Tina . . .?"

"The best of us. I couldn't go to her funeral, but later I talked to her husband

and—"

"Shhhh," Mercedes said. His body had begun to tighten, the muscles pulling into

themselves. "No more talking. Breathe like I showed you and try to clear your

mind. Think of a happy place."

"That tea room comes to mind."

She was glad he couldn't see her smile. "Think of something more peaceful.

Maybe a childhood place with grass and sunshine."

When he started to relax, she knew he was falling into someplace far away.

"There's a house with a porch," he whispered.

She began to work on him. "Just be calm."

She knew enough about anatomy to imagine what had caused his injuries and

what had been done to repair the damage. That he hadn't bled to death was a

miracle. The medical care must have been extraordinary.

There were places on his body that weren't fully healed and she managed to

work around them, gently coaxing his muscles to release. Other areas were thick

and hard with scar tissue and she wished she could have worked on him from the beginning, right after he was hurt. She might have been able to loosen the skin

and kept it from welting.

But she thought Sam wouldn't have allowed that then. She reminded herself

that he was so stubborn, it was only by accident that she was working on him

now.

She spent over an hour working on his back before she felt she'd done all she

could. Her arms were aching, but she wasn't about to stop.

"Turn over," she said, and did what she could to help him. The brace made

his movements awkward.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes closed.

She knew what he meant, as she was beginning to feel the tension leave him.

As she unfastened his brace and began to work on his injured leg, she had an

idea that the story he'd told of his knee injury was a sugarcoated version. Had he

panicked at some sound and forgotten he was on skis? Dived for cover and

landed on his knee?

His eyes were closed and she wasn't going to ask him.

She refastened the brace and started on his other leg, noting his injuries and

working with them.

When she felt him beginning to sleep, she knew her treatment was starting to

work. His face was relaxing. He was falling asleep without the use of any pills!

That she had accomplished this made her feel as though she'd just climbed a

mountain.

When she finally finished, she'd been working on him for nearly two hours.

She was weak, shaky even, from exertion. It had been a very long morning.

She'd jumped out of bed very early, then had the trauma of finding out about

Sam, then . . . then . . .

Smiling, she ran her hand over his cheek. If anyone deserved rest, it was this

wounded soldier.

Stepping back, she put her hands on her lower back and stretched. She'd like

to go to the house, but she didn't dare leave him alone. His big body filled the

table. If he had one of his nightmares, he'd roll off and hit the ground.

She looked around for someone to watch him, but there was no one in the

garden. Yesterday Ryder said the family was going to a beach so that's probably

where they were. She was about to pull up a chair when the red gate opened and

in walked a man she'd never seen before. He looked older, with gray at his

temples, and he was muscular, a bit bigger than Sam.

Obviously, he was one of the Evanses.

He saw her right away, as though he was looking for her. Smiling, she

motioned for him to come over. When he got closer, he asked in a deep rumble of a voice, "Need some help?"

"Could you please watch Sam while I go inside?" she said in a whisper.

"Let him sleep and don't do anything to wake him. If he starts, uh, dreaming, do

something nice, like sing him a lullaby. But whatever you do, do not let him fall

off this table."

The man was looking at her oddly, as though he was trying to figure her out.

Mercedes was walking backward toward the house. "But you probably know all

this, don't you?"

"Not all of it," he said. "Go. I'll take care of him."

She was reluctant to leave. "You can't step away for even a minute. When he

starts thrashing about, he's fast and he's strong."

"I won't let him fall. I promise," the man said and for the first time, he

smiled. "Now go before he wakes up and wants you to give him a mani-pedi."

Laughing, Mercedes turned and ran to the house.

"Dad," Sam said when he woke up. His father was sitting on one of the wooden

chairs and reading a newspaper. Sam realized a blanket was covering him and

he was still on top of the massage table. "I think I dozed off."

"For over an hour," his father said. "Half the family's been over here to gawk

at you. I almost couldn't keep Stacie from climbing on you."

Sam ran his hand over his face. "Did I . . .?"

Dwight knew his son was referring to the nightmares. "It was a mild one. This

girl Mercedes seems to be good for you." Dwight was watching his son, trying hard

not to let the fear show in his eyes. He'd nearly lost his son in a war, and since

Sam had returned, every day Dwight worried that Sam's grief and guilt and all

that he'd been through would overwhelm him. Dwight had read too much about

the suicide of young soldiers to dismiss the possibility.

"She is," Sam said, but didn't elaborate.

But Dwight saw the way his son's face softened, the way he was looking

around to see if she was there. When Sam tried to sit up, Dwight had to resist the

urge to help him. And when the blanket fell away, he couldn't repress a wince at

the sight of his son's scarred body. This isn't what you envisioned for your child

when you diapered him and held your hands out for his first step.

Sam saw the grimace and pulled the blanket up to cover himself.

"You want to tell me about her?"

"No," Sam said. "Not yet." He kept looking around the garden.

"She took a nap," Dwight said. "Your mother went up to check on her and she

was stretched across the bed asleep. I have a favor to ask of you."

"About what?" Sam asked, his voice cautious. "Take care of your aunt Holly tonight. We're all going out to dinner and I think

it might overwhelm her. We arranged that you and Mercedes would have her and

Uncle Burt over for dinner. Something quiet."

They both knew Dwight was lying. A full family dinner, probably in some

restaurant where they'd reserved every table, would be too much for Sam. Kids

screaming and running around, adults laughing, glad to see one another, would

be as loud as a battlefield.

"Sounds good," Sam said, but he didn't meet his father's eyes. "When's the

groom going to get here?"

"As soon as he can. Speaking of grooms, Graydon's wedding is tomorrow

morning. Some of the kids are setting up a screen in Fabray House. You want

to go there or have a setup put in here?"

Sam had to look away and swallow a few times before he answered. He

knew that his family meant well. Their constant, never-ending care and concern

for him were based on love. He knew that and appreciated it. However, the last

few days with Mercedes, being yelled at, being told to do things, had been the best

he'd felt since he was pulled out of the wreckage of an armored vehicle.

"Put in a set here," he said at last.

"Stevie said—"

"Don't send him," Sam said quickly.

Dwight's eyes widened. Since they were born, the twins had been inseparable.

The only argument they'd ever had was when Sam said he was going to serve

his country. Stevie had gone berserk, shouting at his brother, saying that he was a

fool and that he could be killed. It had taken three Smythes and an Evans to

hold Stevie down, while Sam just stood there, unbending in his resolve. "Stevie

will want to see the wedding with you."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said and there was a flush on his cheeks. "But he and

Mercedes don't get along. He keeps testing her."

"He thinks she's a gold digger?"

"He thinks she'll leave me when she gets tired of my . . . of my . . ." He

couldn't finish or meet his father's eyes.

"What do you think?"

"That if she's smart, she'll run away." He was scratching one of the scars

over his rib cage.

"I think that if she's smart she'll overlook a few mosquito bites and see my

son underneath."

"Thanks," Sam said and met his father's eyes.

"Are you hungry? Your mother yet again packed your refrigerator full of

food. She's becoming great friends with Dr. Schuester wife, Valery. I think they're going to collaborate on a book. A sort of murder mystery cum ghost

story. Your mom found a lot of info about your Tea Ladies ghosts and gave it all

to Burt."

Sam nodded. He knew what his dad was doing. He was putting Holly and

Burt, the calmest people in the extensive family, together with his injured son. It

was certainly well meant, but Sam couldn't suppress the resentment he felt. He

needed to be singled out, but that didn't mean he wanted to be. Poor, pitiful,

damaged Sam.

"That all sounds great," Sam said as he got off the table. "Mercedes and Uncle

Burt had some meeting at two A.M. and now they're friends."

"Did they?" Dwight asked as he handed his son his clothes. "But Burt doesn't

talk to anyone."

"Everybody talks to Mercedes and everybody likes her," Sam said, sounding

almost defensive. He had his back to his father and didn't see the smile that

reached down to Dwight Evans's very soul. This girl was putting life back into

his son, and for that Dwight was deeply grateful.

"So I've heard. Hunter can't shut up about her."

"What does that mean? Two sentences?"

"Four!" Dwight said and they laughed, the tension between them broken.

When Sam was dressed, he flexed his shoulders and back. "I feel better

after Mercedes's massage. You should let her work on you."

"I think I'll give her a break. It seems like every male in the family has been

over here. Come on, let's go see what your mother left for us to eat." He put his

arm around his son's shoulders and they walked back to the house.

"Hi," Mercedes said as she saw Sam enter the Burtchen. After her nap, she could

think more clearly—and right now she was remembering Sam holding her

against a wall. "Feel better?" she managed to ask.

"Much," he said.

Mercedes started to say more, but behind him came the big man.

"I think you've met my dad."

"I have," Mercedes said as she shook his hand. "But I didn't realize who you

were. Mr. Evans, would you like something to eat? But then I think it's your

wife who fills our refrigerator."

"Or Terry and her golf cart," Sam said, and he and Mercedes looked at each

other in a shared joke.

"I'd love something," Dwight said and sat down at the table. He took a chair

against the wall and settled back to watch his son and this young woman whom

most of his family had been praising to the skies. He'd wanted to meet her the first day they'd arrived, but his wife, Mary, had

nixed that.

"She'll know you're studying her, judging her," Mary said.

"I just want to meet her, that's all. No judgment."

"Ha!" Mary said. "You want to see if she's worthy to be around your wounded

son. You'll be like Stevie and make it into a criminal investigation. The poor girl

will run away."

"And you wouldn't question her?" Dwight said, sounding more angry than he

meant to.

"I would scrutinize everything about her!" Mary shot back. She was quite

small and her husband was large, but she had never been intimidated by

him. "I'd watch her like she was under a magnifying glass." Her voice was

rising. "If she said even a word that wasn't kind and loving and gentle and caring

to our Sam, I'd tear her eyes out. I'd—"

Dwight pulled her into his arms. "It's okay. We'll both stay away."

Mary was trying to calm down. "Sam and Stevie have talked every day and I

don't know what the girl is doing, but Sam likes her." Since his injuries, they'd

paraded half a dozen truly fabulous young women before him. "Brilliant Beauty

Queens," the family called them. Vassar graduates who'd given themselves

pocket money by modeling. But Sam had been so uninterested that Mary had

consulted his doctor about any sexual injuries he might have. But, no, that part

of his body was unscathed.

Dwight had been furious when his wife told him what she'd done. Thankfully,

Sam didn't find out.

Repeatedly, the family had been told to wait, to give Sam time to recover.

When Stevie told them of his idea of taking Sam away from his family's loving

home, away from their care and concern, everyone had fought him. But Stevie

had a couple of doctors on his side. Only after the family agreed to allow it had

Sam been told.

At first he'd said yes, but as the day to leave approached, he'd started to back

down. But somehow, Stevie and Hunter had persuaded Sam to go.

So now Dwight was getting his first look at this girl. She was quite pretty and

as curvy as a snowman. As he watched Sam and Mercedes at the sink, he couldn't

help thinking of the tall skinnies Sam's family had paraded past him. It looked

like when it came to taste in women, it was like father, like son.

Mercedes put a tray of vegetables and dip on the table, and as Dwight munched, he

saw the way the two of them moved about the Burtchen. Their voices were low,

but then they didn't seem to need many words, as they worked well together.

There was an interesting moment after Sam said something and Mercedes laughed. They were standing at the sink, inches apart, their backs to him, and

they looked at each other. Such electricity passed between them that Dwight

paused with a carrot halfway to his mouth.

Somebody's been in the cookie jar, he thought, then reached for his phone.

He wanted to tell his wife that Sam's long spell of celibacy had been broken.

But when Mercedes turned and asked if he'd like iced tea or lemonade, Dwight

took his hand off the phone. "Tea," he said and leaned back in his chair, unable

to get the grin off his face.

"What have you two been doing?" Dwight asked when they were seated across

from him.

Sam knew his father well and when he looked up, his eyes had a bit of a

glint in them. Dwight met his son's eyes for only a second, and his smile widened.

It was a silent message between them.

Mercedes started telling about Terry and the elaborate teas she brought them and

how the woman talked to the lady ghosts.

At first Sam was quiet, letting Mercedes tell the story, but when she got to Dr.

Schuester's visit he joined in.

Dwight sat back, listened, and smiled. He wasn't much interested in the ghost

story—though he knew his wife was—but he was very, very happy to see his son

so animated.

When they ran out of salad dressing, Sam got up and retrieved a bottle from

the fridge. It didn't seem to mean anything to Mercedes, but it was monumental to

Dwight. After Sam came home, wrapped in bandages, his wounds healing, there

had always been someone nearby to get whatever he needed. Now he was on

crutches, his leg in that big, cumbersome brace, but he was doing his own

fetching. Neither he nor Mercedes seemed to think his physical problems were an

excuse for him to sit and be waited on.

"I nearly forgot," Mercedes said. "We have to move the dresser in the tea room."

When Sam sat back down, she took his crutches and leaned them against the

wall.

"Why?" Sam asked.

She looked startled. "I just realized that I haven't told you about my dream! I

saw the ladies. After I told Uncle Burt about it, he said we have to get some

Evanses to move the dresser to see if what I dreamed was real."

"You told my uncle but not me?"

Dwight took a big bite of his sandwich to keep from laughing at his son's tone

of disbelief, and maybe even some hurt at being left out.

"It was that morning when I woke up in your bed and the kids were jumping

on us, then your naked cousins showed up. I was so dazzled by them that I forgot all about the dream. If you hadn't—" Breaking off, she looked at Dwight. "Sorry.

They weren't really naked. Not then, anyway."

Dwight raised his hand. "Don't mind me. Say what you want."

Sam was glaring at Mercedes. "You could have told me later. You could have

taken a break from your harem and told me about your ghost dream."

"You were hiding out with your brother, remember? I couldn't find you! I

asked everyone where you were, but they wouldn't tell me. I still don't know

where you were."

"Busy," Sam said. "So what was your dream?"

"I'm not going to tell you now. I'm going to wait until tonight and tell

everyone."

"But you just said that Uncle Burt has already heard it."

"Yes, but I got an email from him saying he was reading the research material

your mother brought and that at dinner tonight he'd tell us about it. And he says

your aunt Holly is taking a break from wedding activities to look more deeply into

the Jones family tree. Tonight she's going to tell us what she found out. I am

certainly looking forward to the dinner. What do you think we should cook?

Scallops? They're local."

Sam was staring at her in open-mouthed astonishment. "Uncle Burt gave you

his email address?"

"Yes. Don't you have it?"

"No, I don't. He is a very private person."

For a moment the two of them looked at each other as though they were

going to get into a serious argument. Dwight thought maybe he'd have to step in,

but then the two young people started laughing.

"So now you're going to run off with Uncle Burt?" Sam asked, teasing.

"No. I'm after Hunter. Think I could sweet-talk him into moving that big

dresser?"

"I could—"

"Oh, no, you can't," Mercedes said. "You could injure your knee again and my

arms are still sore from a morning of working on all of your incredibly tight

muscles. You're not going to use any muscles while I'm around."

"I thought you liked my tight muscles." His meaning was clear.

"Not on a massage table! Right now we need Hunter and another one of your

bull-sized relatives to move that cabinet." With a gasp, she turned to look at

Dwight. "Sorry. I didn't mean to disparage anyone." Her face turned red.

"At least we Evanses are good for something," Dwight said as he got up.

"Sam, get your phone and tell Hunter to come over here and we'll see what we

can do about the furniture. Mercedes, come with me and show me this thing." He looked from one to the other. "If you two can bear to be parted, that is."

"I can walk and text at the same time," Sam said as he reached for his

crutches, obviously not wanting to be left behind.

But when he stumbled, Mercedes said, "Give me the phone." He did and they

went into the tea room.


	14. Chapter 14

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

Burt arrived with Hunter, who was carrying a big file box. The three Evans men

looked surprised when the man kissed Mercedes on both cheeks. "You

look well, my dear," Burt said.

"I had an interesting morning," she answered and ignored the little snort

Sam gave.

"So I heard." Burt nodded for Hunter to put the box on the coffee table. "Should

we empty the cabinet before it's moved?"

Dwight gave a snort identical to his son's. "I think we can manage it fully

loaded." He looked at Hunter and the two big men easily moved the huge old

dresser away from the wall, then stood back. "It's yours," Dwight said to Mercedes,

meaning that she could look first.

Leaning against the wall they'd exposed were two pieces of old paper, one

about ten by twelve, the other half that size. Whatever was on them was hidden

from view. The fact that they'd been there, untouched, for over two hundred

years didn't surprise Mercedes. Her dream had been so vivid, so clear, that it was as

though she'd lived it.

When she picked up the papers, an envelope fell forward. On the front, in

beautiful copperplate writing, was the single word "Burt." In one movement, she

hid the envelope under her shirt, then got up and put the papers face down on a

tea table.

As the men moved the dresser back in place, she caught Burt's eyes and he

understood that she had something to show him. As he walked past Mercedes, she

surreptitiously slipped the envelope to him.

When they'd all gathered around the table, Mercedes said, "Is everyone ready?"

"With breath held," Burt said.

Mercedes turned the large one over first. The ink drawing was exactly as she'd

seen it in her dream. Two beautiful young women were stretched out together on

the window seat, one with her head on the other's shoulder. Their pretty dresses draped about them, nearly encasing them.

The artist had caught what looked to be sadness in their eyes. But then that

was understandable. On Miranda's wedding day, they'd known it was their last

moment together in the same house. The next day, Miranda was to leave with her

new husband. What they didn't know was that within a week, death would

separate both of them from everything they loved.

Mercedes looked at Burt in question and he nodded at her. Yes, these were the

young women he had seen.

"And what is that one?" Dwight asked.

Mercedes flipped over the other paper—and gasped. It was a drawing of her

father. He was wearing a high-collared shirt and his hair was longer than he used

to wear it, and he was very young, but it was most certainly her dad.

"Whoever he is, he looks like you," Sam said. "You have the same eyes."

She looked at the others standing around the table and each one nodded in

agreement.

Mercedes picked up the drawing. "I guess this is Michael Jones, my ancestor."

She looked at Sam, his father, and Hunter, noting the resemblance among them.

Her father had been the only blood relative on his side she'd ever seen, but here

was evidence of someone else related to her.

When she looked at Sam, he seemed to understand. This discovery needed

privacy.

"Okay, that's enough," Sam said. "Everybody out."

"I agree completely." As Burt started for the door, he nodded at the big box by

the couch. "I think you'll find the contents of that interesting." He left with

Hunter.

Dwight paused by his son. "Your mom will send dinner over later, so you two

don't have to worry about that. Enjoy yourselves." With a warm smile at both of

them, he left the tea room.

Mercedes looked at Sam. "He doesn't think you and I are . . . uh, together, does

he? I mean, he doesn't know that this morning we—" She couldn't say what was

in her mind.

Sam didn't want to lie, nor did he want to confess, so he said nothing.

But Mercedes understood. Yes, he knew. Embarrassed, she stepped out the door.

"I think I need to clean up the gym, so I'd better go." But the sky suddenly

opened and rain pelted down on her. She ran back in and shut the door behind

her.

"You're wet," Sam said. "Stay here." He went into the Burtchen and returned

with a stack of dry Burtchen towels, put one over her hair, and began to rub.

"I need to go upstairs and change," she said. Suddenly, Sam did not want her to leave the room, didn't want either of

them to leave it. He pulled the folded blanket off the window seat and wrapped it

around her shoulders. Rain was coming down hard outside and they could hear it

lashing against the windows. It was a fierce summer storm.

When Mercedes shivered, Sam put his arm around her. "This looks like it may

be coming down for a while. How about I build us a fire and we go through the

box Uncle Burt brought over? And you can tell me about your dream that seems

to have been real."

Mercedes put the towel around her neck. "I think that's a great idea. Do you

know how to build a fire?"

Sam couldn't help shaking his head in disbelief. "Of course. I've watched

the butler do it many times."

Her eyes widened.

"We don't have a butler and I'm from Tennessee. I can build a fire on top of

snow."

"Really?" She sat down on one end of the couch, wrapped in the blanket.

"Watch and learn," he said. It took him only minutes before the fireplace was

going strong. The wind hit the old windows, making them rattle, but it was cozy

and warm inside, and the light from the fire was cheerful.

Mercedes leaned back against a pillow and stretched her legs out. For some odd

reason, her clothes no longer felt wet. "This is nice."

When Sam sat down on the opposite end of the couch, she drew her knees

up. Reaching out, he pulled her feet onto his lap and began to massage them.

"I don't think this is appropriate," she said and started to draw back, but he

held her feet to him.

"Let me get this straight," Sam said. "This morning you had me buck naked

on a table with only a towel the size of a washcloth over my behind, and your

hands were all over me. Inside my thighs, well below my navel, everywhere.

And that's not even counting when we were all over each other. But now I'm not

allowed to touch your feet?"

Mercedes couldn't help laughing. "I guess when you put it that way, I can't say

no. And besides, it does feel good." He was stroking her feet, his strong hands

caressing them, and she closed her eyes.

"You're not used to people doing nice things for you, are you?" he asked.

"I guess not."

"Your stepsister didn't do anything to thank you for all you did for her?"

It was Mercedes's turn to give a snort. "No, that's not something Aphasia does.

Can you reach the box Burt brought?"

Once again, Sam knew he'd been told to back off. "Sure," he said. "You mind if I take off this sweatshirt? It's heating up in here."

At her nod, he pulled the heavy garment over his head. Under it he had on a

plain white, short-sleeved T-shirt, which allowed the scars on his arms to show.

When he reached over to get the box, she could see the outline of more scars on

his back.

"Do you cover up with long sleeves just for outsiders?" she asked.

"No!" He pulled the lid off. "I have to cover up around my family. If I don't,

the aunts get teary and start asking if they can get me anything. The uncles pat

my shoulder and say this country is lucky to have men like me."

"And your cousins?"

"They're the worst. They say, 'Sam, why don't you sit there and watch us

have fun?' Or 'Our game of Ping-Pong won't be too loud for you, will it?' "

Mercedes was trying not to laugh. "Ping-Pong?"

"Well, maybe not that particular game, but I'm sure not invited to play rugby

with them."

"But somebody got you to go skiing."

"That was Stevie. Tough love that put me back in the hospital."

"Sounds like your family was right to coddle you. But then the skiing is what

got you here." She wiggled her toes on his lap.

"Yeah, it did. So maybe I owe my brother. Just please don't tell him that."

Sam leaned forward as though he meant to kiss her.

But Mercedes pulled back. "So what's in the box?"

"Just papers. You know, you wouldn't be nearly so cold if you moved to my

end of the couch. I'm a very warm person."

"I'm not cold at all. I want to see what Uncle Burt brought us."

"Speaking of him, what did you slip my uncle when you two thought no one

was looking?"

"You saw that?!"

"Of course. So what was it?"

She told him of the envelope with Burt's name on it. "Do you think that

tonight at dinner he'll tell us what was inside it?"

"If he does, it's only because he's mad about you."

Mercedes laughed. "I don't think so, but thanks for the compliment."

As Sam held the box up, they looked inside it. There was a thick envelope

on top and under it were a lot of loose papers, most of them photocopies.

"Shall we divide things?" Mercedes asked. "You take the envelope and I'll take

the papers?"

"No. We can do it together. No more secrets."

"I like that," Mercedes said. "So what's in the envelope?" He unlooped the string from around the two dots. "I bet this is from Aunt

Holly."

"I don't see how she could do this. If she's getting married in just a few days,

wouldn't that be her major interest?"

"She's never liked the chaos of big family events. Hunter's mother is here and

she could organize a war. Aunt Holly probably gave her a helpless look and Aunt

Sally took over. Then Aunt Holly probably hid somewhere with a computer and

did a lot of searching—and was happy doing it." He pulled out the papers. "By

the way, whoever gets Hunter gets his mother."

"After watching him move that heavy dresser, it might be worth it. I thought

that T-shirt of his might rip apart. The Hulk come to life!" She gave a dramatic

sigh.

"Did you?" Sam said, then gave a stretch and lifted his arms above his head,

making his biceps double in size.

Mercedes pretended she didn't see him, but the room suddenly grew warmer. She

tossed the towel from her neck and let the blanket slip down. Holding her hand

out, he put a folded paper on it.

It was a genealogy chart like the one she'd seen on the plane coming over,

but this one branched differently. Instead of just going down through her father

to Mercedes, this chart went to another side of the family.

Mercedes sat up straighter. "Am I reading this right?" She bent forward to show

Sam. "This says I have a relative, a living one." She pointed to the entry. "He's

also named Michael and he's thirty years old."

Sam was staring at her. He couldn't grasp the concept of having no known

relatives.

"Is he a cousin?"

He took the chart and looked at it. "You two share the Michael Jones who

married Miranda Figgins, so yes, that makes you distant cousins."

"Wow!" Mercedes said as she fell back against the couch. "I wonder what he's

like? Where he went to school, what he does for a living." She gasped. "Maybe

he's married and has children! I could be an aunt."

He didn't have the heart to point out that the man's kids would also be her

cousins. But then in his family "aunt" and "uncle" were often courtesy titles.

Sam picked up a paper from the pile on his lap. "Let's see. The Michael

Jones in this generation grew up in Boston and graduated from Harvard with a

degree in business. Afterward, he worked on a farm for three years so he could

— Hmmm, I can't seem to make this out." He was teasing her.

Mercedes took the paper out of his hand and read aloud. "He's a landscape

architect. He travels all over the U.S. and designs parks. He's not married, no children." She looked at Sam. "He has a website for his business."

Sam was truly enjoying her wonder and excitement. "Too bad he's so ugly."

"What?!"

He handed her a photo Holly had run off from the website.

Michael Jones was a very good-looking young man. And what's more, he

looked like a younger version of her father. The hair and clothes were different,

but the two men were nearly the same. She looked up at Sam.

"He looks enough like you that he could be your older brother," Sam said.

For a moment there were tears glistening in Mercedes's eyes. "I want to meet

him. After your leg heals I'll go back to Boston and . . ." She didn't finish

because she didn't want Sam to think that his rehabilitation was hindering her.

"See this?" He held up a big cream-colored envelope. "Know what it is?"

"No. Should I?"

"It's an invitation to Aunt Holly's wedding. There's a note from her and she

suggested that you write a letter, include a copy of this chart, and invite your

newly found cousin to the wedding."

It took Mercedes moments to realize what he was saying. "That's a wonderful

idea! Oh, Sam! You are great. Your whole family is fabulous." Bending across

the papers spread out on him, she put her hands on each side of his face and

kissed him hard, then got up.

"You can do better than that," he said.

Mercedes was standing in front of the fireplace and didn't seem to hear him.

"Where will he stay? If he can come, that is. He might be on a job and can't

make it. Or maybe he wouldn't be interested in meeting some distant cousin.

Should I tell him about the ghosts? No! Definitely not. He'd never come if I told

that. Maybe . . ." She looked at Sam.

Sam was smiling at her enthusiasm. "I know! I'll sic Mom on him. She'll

call him and tell him about you and she'll get him to come. She's very

persuasive."

"She'd do that? For me, I mean?"

There was so much to answer in that question that he didn't know where to

begin. Mercedes had made Sam laugh, and for that he knew his mother would do

anything for her. "Yeah, she'll do it. But she'll want to hear every detail of the

story, so be prepared."

Mercedes put her hands behind her back and began to pace.

Sam smiled as he watched her, amused by the deep frown of concentration

she was wearing. But after a few minutes his smile began to fade. He could

afford to laugh about this idea of wanting a family because he had one in

abundance. But what would it truly be like to have no one? When he was in Afghanistan, the thought of family and home kept him

going. At every mail call there were letters from his family. His parents wrote

constantly. His mother's letters were full of funny, loving stories about everyone.

His siblings, even little Stacie and Sean, had sent him drawings, gifts, and food.

When he saw that some people with him never received any mail, he'd sent a

plea to his mother to get the relatives to write to them. Within a week,

Smythe-Evans letters were coming in by the bagful.

Sam watched as Mercedes picked up the paper that told about her one and only

cousin and read it again. She seemed to be memorizing it, studying it, trying to

get a real person out of it.

He remembered what Stevie had told him about her stepsister, and Mercedes had

made some rather horrific offhand comments about her life after her father had

remarried. What had happened to her?

As he watched Mercedes, he realized that her wounds weren't visible, as his

were. She didn't have to wear long sleeves to cover the scars, but right now he

was thinking that it was possible she was as deeply scarred as he was.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and punched the button for his

mother's number. She answered instantly.

"Sam!" Mary said, her voice on the verge of panic. "Are you all right? Do

you need me? I'm just next door. Sally has me buried in ribbons, but I'll gladly

leave. I can—"

"Mom!" Sam said, making Mercedes stop pacing and look at him. "I'm fine. I

feel better than I have since— Anyway, yes, I'm great."

Mercedes sat down on the end of the couch and watched him.

"I know you're busy," Sam said, "but I have some urgent business I want

you to do. Did you see that Aunt Holly found Mercedes's relative?"

"No," Mary said, her voice serious. "What's going on?"

"I want you to bring him here. Now."

Mercedes drew in her breath.

"Can she hear me?" Mary whispered.

"No," Sam said cheerfully. "Not at all."

"You said 'relative' singular and 'him,' also singular. Is there just one—

besides that stepsister I heard about?"

"Yes, Mom, you're exactly right." Sam gave Mercedes a thumbs-up. If there

was anything on earth his mother knew about, it was rotten families. He'd only

met people from her side once and it had been a disaster. A sister had threatened

to write a tell-all book of lies about Mary if she didn't pay millions. Sam didn't

know what his father did, but the sister went away and was never heard from

again. "You think you could get this guy here for the wedding?" "If it's possible, I'll do it." Mary lowered her voice. "But first I'll make some

calls and find someone who knows him. After I verify that he's a good guy, I'll

send the jet to pick him up."

"Brilliant," Sam said. "Let me know everything as it happens."

"Of course I will. And Sam, dearest, how are you really and truly?"

"It's what you wished for." He was looking at Mercedes and smiling.

Mary drew in her breath. "That you're beginning to heal?"

"Yes, you have it right."

"Okay," she said. "I'm now going to go somewhere and cry, then I'll make

some calls. Oh, no! Here comes Sally. I have to hide. Sam, I love you more

than you can imagine." She clicked off.

He put his phone down and looked at Mercedes. "He'll be here as fast as my

mom can get him here. Which means he'll probably knock on the door at any

second."

Mercedes was calming down. "I'm sorry for getting so excited about this. It's

just that I never dreamed this could happen. My mother's family only seems to

give birth to single children, no siblings, and my dad grew up as a ward of the

state."

It came to Sam to make a joke about that being a blessing, but he didn't. He

wanted her to tell him what had happened with her stepsister, but at this point he

knew better than to ask her directly. "You have any girlfriends you want to invite

to the wedding? The big meal is a buffet, so there's room for more people." He

handed her some papers from the box. The rain was coming down hard and the

fire felt good. Her legs stretched out beside him, her feet by his hip. His

uninjured leg was beside hers, but the braced one was half on, half off the couch.

He shifted so their legs were together, then pulled the blanket over them.

Mercedes looked like she was about to protest, but when a flash of lightning lit

up the room, she didn't. "This is some storm. I wonder why we weren't warned

about it on the news?"

"Dad says that storms on Nantucket aren't for sissies."

"That looks to be correct. Anyway, I have no special girlfriends to invite. A

few work friends but not that BFF."

Sam picked up a copy of an article from the local newspaper dated 1974 and

told Mercedes of the first lines. A young couple on their honeymoon had been

staying at the Star Heaven Inn. The wife went to the police and said her husband

had been talking to two women at the house next door and they'd told him to get

a divorce.

"Listen to this!" Sam said and began reading aloud. " 'When the police

investigated, they found that the room where the husband said he'd had tea with the young women was securely locked and when it was opened, the inside was

filthy.' "

Sam showed the page to Mercedes. There was a grainy black-and-white photo

of the tea room and it was just as dirty as it had been when they'd first seen it.

Mercedes took the page and continued reading. " 'When questioned, the husband

told the police that the beautiful young women he'd had tea with were ghosts.

He said they only appeared to him because he'd not yet met the woman he

would love with all his heart. He said he needed to be free so he could search for

her.' "

"This was on their honeymoon?" Mercedes said. "No wonder his wife was

furious!" She read more, telling how the owner of the house, John Figgins, had

denied the existence of any ghosts. He said the room was locked when he bought

the house, and since he didn't need the space, he'd left it locked. "Do you think

John was telling the truth?" Mercedes asked.

"I think he was lying through his teeth," Sam answered.

"I agree. I do think John was in love with them." She put the paper down. "I

just remembered the embroidery we saw. It was on the porch and you took a

photo of it."

Their eyes met and in the next second, Mercedes was running through the house

to get it while Sam looked on his phone for the photo. When she didn't come

back right away, he called for her, but there was no answer. He called twice more

but still no answer.

A bright flash of lightning was followed by a crack of thunder so loud the old

house seemed to quake. Mercedes's disappearance, the lightning, then the noise,

were too much like what Sam had experienced on the battlefield. He rolled off

the couch and hit the floor hard. He couldn't remember where he was, but he had

to get out of there!

He was crawling across the floor on his stomach, his braced leg dragging

behind him, and keeping his body low.

Mercedes came into the room carrying a heavily laden tea tray, a bag over her

shoulder. "Look what Terry dropped off. Sorry I took so long, but I couldn't find

the tray. Sam? Did you fall?"

When she set the tray and bag on the dresser and looked down at him, she

realized that he wasn't himself. He was like he was during his nightmares, awake

but not awake.

"Sam!" she said. "It's me, Mercedes. You are safe." But he didn't respond. And

he was crawling toward the blazing fireplace! She put her hands on his shoulders

and pulled back, but he kept moving. "Sam!" she shouted, but again there was

no response. What could she do? "Help me," she whispered aloud. Sam was now inches from the fire. "Please help me know what to do!" she cried out.

Suddenly, she stood up straight, her shoulders back. "Soldier!" she yelled.

"Halt!"

He stopped moving.

Mercedes turned on the two floor lamps to put as much light as she could in the

room. When she looked back, Sam had collapsed onto his stomach, his face

buried in his arms. She knelt down at his head and stroked his hair.

"Go away," he mumbled. "I don't want you to see me like this."

She sat down beside him. "I'm not leaving."

He turned his head away from her. "Get out of here!" he shouted. "I don't

want you!"

Mercedes didn't move. "You can yell at me all you want, but I'm not leaving."

"I told you to get out!" His voice was a growl.

She still didn't move but just sat there beside him and waited. She knew he

was embarrassed; she could feel it. It was like something that filled the room.

Waves of regret and sorrow, fear and helplessness, were all around them.

Sam turned onto his back, his hands on his chest, which was still heaving.

Mercedes just waited. If she'd learned no other lesson in her life, she was very

well acquainted with patience. Since she was eleven and her father had come

home with a new wife and a pretty little stepdaughter, Mercedes'd had to cultivate

patience. It was a seed that had been planted on that first day and it had grown

with the rapidity and strength of Jack's beanstalk.

It took a while for Sam's breathing to quieten, for his heart to stop

pounding. She saw a tear in a corner of his eye.

How awful it must be to be a man, she thought. To always be burdened with

having to be strong, to show no weakness. A loss of strength made him think he

was less than who he was supposed to be. Weakness took away who he was.

Finally, Sam turned his head toward her. Just a bit, but it was enough for her

to know that he was himself again.

She didn't say anything, just patted her lap in invitation.

He didn't hesitate as he put his head on her lap and his arms around her waist.

"I'm—"

She put her fingertips over his lips. She did not want to hear an apology.

For a while he held on to her so tightly that she almost couldn't breathe, but

she didn't try to loosen his grip. Instead, she just stroked his hair and waited for

him to relax. When she felt his arms begin to loosen, she said, "Terry left us

some tea. Want some?"

He took a while before he answered, then he nodded. She waited for him to

sit up, and when he did, she wasn't surprised that he wouldn't look at her. When he tried to stand up, he stumbled and almost fell. Mercedes's instinct was to help

him, but she didn't. Instead, she got the big tray of tea off the dresser and put it

on the coffee table. Sam sat down on the couch.

"Look at this." Mercedes opened the bag and tossed him the embroidery hoop.

"See the difference?"

Sam still hadn't looked at her, and she could see he was having trouble

focusing on the embroidery. "It's still the same."

"That's what I thought at first too, but look again."

He picked up his phone and compared it to the picture he had taken that first

day. "This is yellow." Finally, he met her eyes.

"Right. The first one we saw had birds on it, but this one is of daffodils. Here

are the birds." She handed him a pillow.

Sam put both on the table. "You know, this is a bit creepy."

"Very," she said and handed him a cup of tea with six different types of

cookies on the saucer.

He took a drink, then said, "Mercedes, I . . ." He couldn't seem to find words for

what he wanted to say. "I don't hurt anyone," he said at last. "If I'd ever come

close to hurting anyone, I wouldn't have allowed myself to be here alone with a

young woman." He took a breath. "It's just that sometimes I don't know where I

am." He paused. "I didn't mean the things I said."

Mercedes nodded in understanding. "I know." She could tell that he didn't want

to say any more about it. But that was all right because she too had things she

didn't want to talk about. She gasped. "The box! We forgot the box."

"What are you talking about?"

"The one that hit me on the head. Remember? You freaked because you

thought I was bleeding to death and you washed my hair. I turned into Meryl

Streep fighting for her Kikuyus and—" She looked at his blank face. "It's a girl

thing. I'll go get the box, but you stay here. Okay?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I'll stay right here and wait for you. Just this time

don't take too long."

She wasn't sure, but she thought maybe he was making a joke about what had

just happened.

She went to the pantry but didn't switch on the light. Instead, she leaned back

against the wall and put her hands over her face. That had been truly scary!

She'd not known how to help him. Stand back and let him get over it by

himself? Or step in and do something?

When she closed her eyes, she seemed to hear the words "_In every war, the_

_soldiers are different. This one responds to love._"

Her eyes flew open, but no one was there. But she knew who had "spoken. "The same voice had told her which bedroom to choose, had told her to give a

soldier orders, and was now giving her advice.

"Mercedes!" Sam yelled.

"I'm here," she answered back. "I'll be there as soon as I find it." When a bit

of lightning highlighted the old box as though a spotlight had been turned on it,

she rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? And I bet that tea is still piping

hot."

When she heard what sounded like the laughter of two young women, she

hurried out of the pantry.


	15. Chapter 15

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Sam called.

"Yes," she answered and picked up the box. She sniffed a bit and put on a smile. She wasn't going to let Sam see how much he'd upset her. As she rounded the corner, Sam was coming toward her on his crutches. But before he could say anything, there was a knock on the door.

"Fun's over," he mumbled. When he nodded at the box, she shoved it way back on a shelf of the dresser, and Sam opened the door. It was Ryder.

"I have been given instructions to equip this room with a properly set table for dinner tonight. Dr. Schuester and his wife had dishes and silver sent over from Fabray House. You two need to get dressed." Ryder stepped inside.

"It's a sauna in here! Did you have a fire going?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "With the storm, it was cold in here."

"Storm?" Ryder said. "We've been on the beach today and it was so sunny we nearly fried. We went through a dozen tubes of sunscreen."

"Maybe it was a localized storm," Sam said.

Ryder unhooked the double doors and threw them both open. Outside the grass was dry; there wasn't a drop of moisture on the paving stones. Mercedes was just behind Sam and staring in disbelief.

"Interesting."

"Whatever you two have been drinking, you should share it," Ryder said. He looked out at the garden. Hunter and Mason were coming toward them carrying big boxes, and behind them was an older woman.

"Is that Aunt Sally?" Sam asked.

"None other."

Sam turned to Mercedes. "We have to get out of here as fast as we can run."

"But I want to meet her," Mercedes said even as Sam got behind her and began pushing.

"Unless you want to tell every secret you've ever had, especially about your stepsister and the passport, you'll get out of here before Aunt Sally arrives." Mercedes took time to blink twice, then began running toward the stairs.

"Dinner in an hour," Ryder called after them. "And we set up the TV in the living room while you two were braving the big bad storm. Did the thunder keep you from hearing us?"

Mercedes stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at Sam. "We're either both crazy or . . ."

"Or the ladies played some game on us," Sam answered.

"I don't know about you, but I prefer crazy," Mercedes said.

"I agree. So what was in the box?"

"I didn't have time to look. I need to get dressed. If your cousins are bringing over china, is this thing formal?"

"Put on the black dress you wore to dinner. But you should know that if Uncle Burt's involved, he may show up in a tux. And Aunt Holly might—"

"Why didn't you warn me about this? I should have started getting ready two hours ago. Damn!" She ran to her bedroom to get in the shower.

* * *

Minutes later, as she was frantically trying to get the curling iron to work on her hair, Sam knocked on her bedroom door.

"Are you dressed?" he asked.

"Enough." She had on her underwear and a bathrobe. Sam came in, wearing the clothes he'd worn when they went out to dinner.

"You don't need to do that to your hair. You look great with it pulled back flat."

"Nice to hear but not really true," she answered. "Oh, no!" Her cell phone was ringing. Sam took it off her nightstand and looked at the ID but said nothing.

"Who is it?"

Silently, he handed her the phone. In big letters it said MIKE. "It's probably his mom." She put down the iron, took the phone, and stepped into the sitting room. "Hello?" she said tentatively.

"Mercedes?"

"Mike! How are you? And how is your mother?"

"Everyone is fine. Do you have a moment?"

"Of course. My time is yours."

Sam was standing in the doorway. "We need to go down and greet our guests," he said rather loudly.

"You're not alone," Mike said. "And you have guests? Is that someone I know?"

"No, you've not met him," Mercedes said while frowning at Sam and motioning for him to go away. But he sat down in a chair, his hands on his lap, looking as though he meant to stay there. Mercedes turned her back on him.

"I was told that you're coming here to visit."

"Yes," Mike said, "I am. Mercedes, I have to tell you something and I hope it won't upset you. I wanted to hear both sides of what went on between you and Aphasia so I spent some time with her. I even took her to the office with me."

"Oh," Mercedes said and sat down heavily on the window seat. "Let me guess. You think she went about it the wrong way, but she has a valid reason for what she did."

Mike gave a laugh. "No, I haven't changed."

Mercedes's smile deepened. "Has she put my house up for sale?"

"No, and she's not going to!" Mike's voice was firm. "But she made a pass at my boss."

"She didn't!"

"Oh, yes," Mike said. "She most certainly did. Anyway, Mercedes, I have some paperwork to clear up at the office, then I'll fly out to Nantucket and we can talk. But honestly, is it all right for Aphasia to continue living in your house for another week or so? She got a job at a restaurant so she can feed herself, but she can't pay the mortgage. Once this is settled, I'll get her out."

"Let her stay. I'll make the payments from here. Whenever you can come, let me know. I have a guest bedroom and—" She broke off as she looked at Sam, who was glaring at her.

"I'll be here," she finished.

"Mercedes, I so look forward to seeing you again. Maybe when I'm there it won't all be work. Maybe we can play some."

"I'd like that," she said. "I'd like that very much."

They said goodbye and hung up. Mercedes sat there for a few moments, holding the phone in her hands and thinking about what had just been said. Maybe they could play some? She came back to the present when Sam got up and started to leave—and she realized she'd just given his bedroom away.

"I didn't mean to—"

"That's all right," he said. "He's your friend and you want him to be more.

You think I should wear a tie tonight?"

"No," she said. "Sam, I—"

When he turned to her, his face was cold, withdrawn. "Mercedes, we all have pasts full of secrets. When your friend arrives, I'll get out and he can have the bedroom next to you. And oh, yeah, this morning when you and I . . . you know, don't think about it. It would have happened with anyone." He went to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. Mercedes started to knock. They needed to talk! But she looked at her watch and realized she had only minutes before she had to be downstairs to greet their guests. She had trouble reaching the long zipper of her dress, but she managed it.

* * *

Sam was waiting for her at the landing and he was still wearing that cold look.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she said. "Are you in some jealous fit because I talked to another man?"

"Talk?! It's more like you oozed to him. 'Oh, Mike,' " he said in falsetto, "

'you're so strong and smart and I'm just a helpless little thing.' "

Mercedes tried not to laugh. "You are jealous. For your information, I have known Mike Chang my entire life. He gave me piggyback rides when I was a toddler."

"And how old were you when you started planning your wedding to him?"

"Eight," she said before she thought.

"My point exactly," he said smugly.

Mercedes's hands made fists at her sides. "I have a right to talk to anyone I want to in any way I want to and you have no right to—"

"I hate to interrupt here," said a deep, smooth voice from the bottom of the stairs, "but your guests are on their way." Ryder was looking up at them in curiosity. With a bit of a smile, he walked away.

"We can finish this later," Sam said as he motioned for her to go down ahead of him.

"There's nothing to finish," Mercedes said under her breath. "Mike is—" She stopped when she saw the tea room. The furniture had been rearranged so there was a round table for four in the center, draped with a snowy linen cloth. The dishes on it were Herend, winking in the light of the many candles that were set about the room. The air was fragrant with food, wine, and flowers.

"This is truly exquisite," she said and smiled at Mason, Ryder, and Hunter, who were beautifully dressed and standing to one side.

"We are here to serve you," Mason said. His dark eyes were made for candlelight. If a Regency romance novel came to life, Mason McCarthy-Smythe would be the hero.

"All of you will be here tomorrow to watch the wedding, won't you?" She took a step toward him.

"Out!" Sam said. "We can serve the food ourselves."

"If you need us . . ." Hunter said as he walked toward the doors.

"Go!" Sam said. "We don't need any of you." He shut the doors behind them.

"What is wrong with you?!" Mercedes said.

"Where do I begin? I was in a war and the vehicle blew up and—"

"Don't you even think of blaming your bad mood on a war! This has nothing to do with—"

"Am I interrupting?" Burt asked from the doorway. "I was told to come in."

"Please do." Mercedes turned away from Sam. Burt stepped back to allow a woman to enter before him, and Mercedes had her first sight of Holly, the bride. She was a very pretty woman, her face soft, ethereal even. She was thin and wearing a dress of gauzy fabric that suited her pale skin.

"If you'd rather, we can come back another time," she said, her voice as soft as her face.

"No, it's fine," Mercedes said. "Sam's just being a jerk." Immediately, she put her hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry! He's your nephew and—" She wanted the floor to open and swallow her. Holly laughed.

"He can be." Smiling, she affectionately ruffled Sam's hair.

"Stevie is worse."

"Isn't he!" Mercedes said, then rolled her eyes. "I am sorry. I'm really putting my foot in it tonight."

Burt made formal introductions. He was dressed in a dark suit, no tie, and from the quick way he glanced about the room she thought he was casing it. She wasn't surprised when his eyes landed on the box she'd slipped onto a dresser shelf.

"Would you mind if I used your facilities?" Holly asked. "And Mercedes, maybe you'd show me the way."

"Of course." She led the way past the dark living room. She was startled to see the big flat screen TV that had been set up at the end of the room, with chairs facing it. How in the world had she and Sam not heard this being put in? But then the thunder of the storm—the one that didn't happen—must have covered the noise. She waited for Holly to finish in the bathroom, but then she heard what sounded like retching. She softly tapped on the door.

"Are you all right?"

When Holly opened the door, her face was without color. Mercedes took over. She sat Holly on the side of the tub, got a washcloth, and soaked it in cold water.

"How about we get you to the hospital?"

"No," Holly said. "It was like this the last time. I'll be fine in a few minutes.

Just let me sit here."

Mercedes filled a glass with water and handed it to her. Did this woman have something physically wrong with her? An illness? Maybe she . . . Mercedes stepped back to wring out the cloth. It was like this the last time, she'd said.

"When are you due?" Mercedes asked. Holly gave a sigh.

"About seven months from now. No one knows, not even my soon-to-be husband, Brian."

Mercedes frowned at that.

"No, it's not like that. He's in Lanconia right now. He's known Graydon's bride since she was a baby. I was going to go too, but their wedding was moved forward because Toby is pregnant—and only family knows that."

"Toby is the bride?"

"Yes," Holly said. "She finally drove Graydon to the limit of what he could resist and . . ." Holly waved her hand. "It's a long story, but our wedding dates ended up very close together and I used that as my excuse not to go with Brian. If I'd told him that I was expecting, he wouldn't have gone."

"And he would have missed the wedding." Bending, Mercedes put her hands on Holly's neck and began massaging it.

"If even one person in my family suspects my condition, it will spread like a forest fire. And Brian will be hurt that he didn't hear first."

"We'll just have to keep it a secret until he returns. It'll be between you and me. And tomorrow I'll put you on my massage table and get rid of the tension in your shoulders." She looked Holly in the eyes. "Everything will be all right. In fact, why don't you stay here tonight? If you're having morning sickness in the evening, it won't take much for anyone to guess what the problem is."

She could feel the tension in Holly loosening. "We'd better go back or the men will worry."

She rinsed out the cloth.

"What were you and Sam arguing about—if I may ask?"

"I was talking to an old friend on the phone and Sam got quite unpleasant."

She looked at Holly. "Do you think he was jealous?"

"Probably," Holly said, then caught Mercedes's hand. "Thank you. Thank you for this and especially for making Sam display a normal emotion. For years now he hasn't really been back with us. Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Mercedes said, "but I'm still not going to put up with it."

Holly was frowning. "I don't think you know about Sam's problems, about —"

"His seizures? His nightmares? His fears of ordinary daily occurrences? Oh, yes, I know all about that and I understand them. It's just that I have some problems of my own. I've spent too much of my life being controlled by other people and I'm done with it."

For a moment Holly looked shocked, then she smiled. "Oh, my goodness! I think that whatever you're doing, it's working. Shall we return?"

When they got back to the tea room, Holly turned down a cocktail and Mercedes got her some orange juice. Sam was still frowning and watching Mercedes's every movement. Holly went to stand by Burt.

"If that boy loses her, it will be the worst thing he's ever done in his life."

"I agree completely," Burt said.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Stevie asked his brother. It was the morning after the dinner party and Sam was sitting by the swimming pool at the house of a man named Anthony Rashad. They had no idea who the guy was, but they'd been told that he was in the wedding in Lanconia and that's why the house was empty. The six bedrooms were all full of the Smythe-Evans bachelors who'd happily agreed to a vacation on Nantucket to attend Aunt Holly's wedding. But then the Smythes always agreed to go anywhere there was water, and the Evanses had come because Holly was theirs. Right now all of them were either at Fabray House or at Mercedes's getting ready to watch Graydon's wedding on TV. Stevie was dressed and holding car keys as he prepared to leave. But Sam had on a big pair of swim trunks and was sitting in the sun. He knew his wounds benefited from the ultraviolet rays, but he didn't show his scars around anyone except his brother. And Mercedes, he thought.

"What?" he asked Stevie.

"I asked why you're here. Dad had the TV set up at Mercedes's house so you two could watch it in private. But you came here late last night and now you're just sitting there. The wedding won't wait on you."

"Mercedes invited half the Smythes and all the Evanses to come to her house. At least it seems like that many." Even Sam thought he sounded sulky. Stevie put the keys in his pocket and sat on a chair in the shade.

"I'll stay here with you. In case—"

"In case what?!" Sam said. "In case I need something? In case a plane goes overhead and I freak out at the noise and land face down in the pool?"

Stevie had had a couple of years to get used to his brother's mood changes: smiling one second, enraged the next. He was unperturbed, but then he knew that the girl was Sam's problem.

"The old me would have gone after her."

Stevie looked at the sun glistening off the pool water. "I'm not sure about this, but I don't think this girl would have given the old you the time of day."

"What does that mean? That she prefers half men?"

Stevie was keeping his own temper down, but it wasn't easy. "Is that why she kicked you out of the house last night? Because you're a wounded soldier?"

"Of course not! Mercedes's not like that." Sam took a breath. "Holly wasn't feeling well, so Mercedes suggested she stay there with her, in the quiet. It was good advice. Burt used Mercedes's car to drive me out here."

"What happened at the dinner last night? Anything bad?"

"No," Sam said. "It was all good. Uncle Burt and Mercedes seem to have formed some sort of alliance over the Tea Ladies. Mercedes described her dream and Uncle Burt told about seeing them and I told of seeing one of them."

"You didn't tell me that you saw a ghost." Stevie's voice was sharp. It wasn't easy for him to keep his opinions to himself. This girl Mercedes seemed to be pulling his brother away from him. It was as though the twin bond was being stretched so far that it just might break. War hadn't snapped it apart, but this pretty girl from Boston might cut the tie. The problem was that Stevie didn't trust her. He knew his brother was falling for her, but Stevie didn't think she felt the same way about him. She liked him and she hadn't been repulsed by the sight of Sam's wounds, so that was in her favor. But he didn't sense any real depth of feeling coming from her. Earlier this morning Stevie had called Uncle Burt and asked what the hell had so angered his brother.

"He's back to where he was months ago. What happened?!"

"I think it's just a case of the green-eyed monster," Burt said. "At dinner Mercedes mentioned that she'd had a call from a guy named Mike and that he was coming to visit. I wouldn't have thought anything about it, but young Sam's face swelled up so red he looked like some poisonous fish. He really should work on controlling his emotions."

Stevie thought so too, but he wasn't going to side with anyone against his brother.

"Do you know who this Mike is?" Burt asked.

"Vaguely," Stevie said. As a law enforcement agent, he wasn't going to tell what he knew about anything. "I'll see you later today." After he hung up, Stevie thought about what he did know about Mike Chang. When Stevie had visited his mother, she'd gone on and on about how she so very much wanted her son to marry Mercedes.

"Everyone complains about mothers-in-law," Mrs. Chang said, "but no one thinks what we mothers have to put up with. I'm scared my son will marry someone like . . . like Aphasia."

"What does Mercedes think of your son?"

"She thinks no one knows, but Roz—that's Mercedes's late stepmother—and I used to agree that if Mike said, 'Mercedes, jump into that volcano for me,' she wouldn't hesitate. That's the kind of mother I want for my grandchildren. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do, yes," Stevie said. He hadn't told his brother of the conversation, but he certainly remembered it. His worry was that Mercedes was very good at her job and that to her, Sam was just her client. She cared about him and would do anything she could to help him heal, but it ended there. On the day she'd seen how deeply injured Sam had been, she'd mainly been concerned that he'd insulted her profession. Stevie feared that when Sam's knee had healed and he could walk again, Mercedes would consider her job done. She'd kiss him on the cheek, tell him goodbye, and look to the next patient. Add that to what Sam had already been through and Stevie wasn't sure his brother would ever recover.

"Stop thinking so hard and leave," Sam said. "Go enjoy yourself. I'll be fine here. Actually, I'd like some down time. I'll sit in the sun and let it heal me."

Stevie looked at his brother. "You want me to go to the house and report back to you, don't you?"

"Yeah," Sam said and gave a bit of a smile.

Stevie stood up. "I'll take one of the cars Rashad said we could use, but I'll leave the Range Rover for you. Keys are in the Burtchen."

"I won't be there," Sam said. "I don't want to ruin everyone's good time."

"You won't," Stevie said, but he knew it was no use arguing. "Just so you know, though, if Hunter makes a play for her, she's on her own. I won't tackle him even for my brother."

Sam gave a bit of a laugh, then waved his brother away.

* * *

Mercedes awoke with a sense of panic. She hadn't gone to Sam at two A.M.! She was halfway out of bed before she remembered that he'd left with Uncle Burt after the dinner. It was still early so Mercedes lay back in bed, snuggled with her pillow, and thought about the dinner. It had turned into an evening of the Tea Ladies, as each one told all that he or she had experienced. Holly was a wonderful audience. She expressed shock or delight at everything that was revealed. Mercedes described her dream and showed the drawings that had been behind the big cupboard.

"Have you ever heard of anything like that?!" she asked.

"Actually," Holly said, "Toby and Graydon . . ." She trailed off. "No, nothing." Sam told of seeing the beautiful young ghost and of hearing "Miranda has died," but he didn't say that it had been Mercedes who'd whispered it. That led to Sam and Mercedes telling Will's story of why the young women were ghosts.

"I'd like to read the documents that tell the story," Mercedes said.

"I doubt there are any," Holly said. The other three looked at her in interest, but she just smiled.

"Burt said something about a box you found."

Mercedes got up and pulled the old wooden box off the shelf and set it down in the middle of the table. "I didn't open it. Sam was—" She broke off. There was no need to mention Sam's panic attack. But to Sam, they were family.

"She didn't have time to open it because I was coming apart and crawling across the floor in panic," he said. "Same ol', same ol'."

Burt and Holly gave him a look of sympathy—and that bothered Mercedes.

"The oddest thing about Sam's attacks is that hugging and kissing are the only things that soothe him. I'm beginning to wonder if they're real."

Mercedes was still standing and for a moment the three of them looked at her in shock. Burt was the first to laugh and Holly followed. Sam picked up her hand and kissed the palm. After that, anything left of his bad mood was gone. At dessert, Burt showed the card that had been inside the envelope with his name on it. FIND THEM was beautifully handwritten on it. They passed the card around, but no one had any idea what it meant.

"Find who?" Mercedes asked.

"Who are you missing?" Sam asked, but Burt said nothing. The box was full of recipes, and they seemed to cover centuries and the world.

"Look!" Mercedes said to Sam as she held up a yellowed card. "This is for those cookies you like so much." Her statement led them to talk about the wonderful teas Terry left for them.

"They're very high calorie," Mercedes said, "but we eat them anyway."

"Doesn't look like it's hurting you," Sam said. "That dress used to be tight."

"I know. I think it's all the work on your naked cousins. Digging into Hunter's muscles probably used a couple thousand calories."

Sam groaned. "See what I have to put up with?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Mercedes saw Burt and Holly smile at each other. All in all, it had been a lovely evening—and Sam had agreed with the idea of his dear aunt Holly staying the night. Burt said he'd drive Sam to a house where he could spend the night.

"I'll see you tomorrow for the wedding," Mercedes said as they parted at the door.

"Yeah," Sam said hesitantly.

"Maybe." Before she could ask what he meant, he turned to Burt. "We better go." Burt took Mercedes's car and drove Sam away, and Holly stayed behind. Mercedes took one look at her and sent her upstairs to bed. "But I should help clean up."

"No, you shouldn't," Mercedes said and stood there waiting as she went upstairs. When Holly was out of sight, Mercedes returned to the tea room and began to put things away. The house was eerily quiet and she couldn't help wishing Sam was there. He'd make jokes and the chores would be easier. She was halfway finished when she sat down on the couch and put her head in her hands. It had been a long day! Seeing Sam's scars, running away from him, and feeling so very angry, then . . . then feeling his lips on hers, his naked body against hers. Later, being together on the couch, legs entwined, the storm outside, the fire inside. She remembered his attack and how helpless she'd felt, but at the same time he'd made her feel needed. She looked around the room. The fire was dead, most of the candles were out, and the plates on the table were empty.

Why had Sam been so angry about Mike? Surely, Sam knew that here and now was temporary. It was all a fantasy. The romance of the old house with its beautiful ghosts, the gorgeous young men wandering about, the scrumptious meals that seemed to appear out of nowhere . . . None of it was real. She couldn't help thinking that it was like her life with her grandparents. It had been happy and fun and carefree. But it had all ended in a single day. She had no doubt that when Sam's knee healed he'd leave too. Getting up, she paused at the table. She was too tired to do any more. She'd clean it in the morning. She blew out the few remaining candles and went upstairs. Ten minutes later, she was sound asleep.

* * *

Now it was morning and she wished she could stay in bed, but she heard water running and knew Holly was up. She should see if she was all right. Mercedes quickly dressed and went through the sitting room. The bedroom was open and Holly was just climbing back into the bed.

"I agree," Mercedes said and Holly nodded to the other side. Mercedes went around to the far side and stretched out on top of the covers by Holly.

"I think this is the first morning that having another baby has felt real to me," Holly said.

"You didn't plan it?"

"I'm forty-three. No, I didn't."

Turning their heads, they looked at each other and smiled.

"You're making me remember my daughter," Holly said. "She's at college now and has little need for her mother. And you?"

"I don't remember my mother, but I had a young, energetic grandmother and that was enough. Will Brian be happy when you tell him?"

"Ecstatic. He and his first wife, Victoria, have only one child. Have you met either of them?"

"No. I just seem to meet tall, beautiful men who take their clothes off at the first sight of me."

Holly laughed. "Except for Sam."

Mercedes groaned. "Getting his clothes off was an ordeal! I wanted to strangle Stevie. Why does he dislike me so much?"

"He's just protective of his brother. When Sam told him he was going to serve a tour in Afghanistan, Stevie nearly went crazy. He was terrified of losing Sam."

"But isn't Stevie in a profession where he gets shot at?"

"If you're asking me to explain male logic," Holly said, "I can't do it. Stevie's wanted to be a policeman or a sheriff since he was a kid. Every Halloween he wore the same costume. When he was little, Mary bought him the whole set of Mayberry videotapes. He watched them and Sam watched cartoons."

"Not videos of being a soldier?"

"No," Holly said, "and I think that's part of why Stevie was so upset. He's a very orderly young man. He doesn't like surprises." She looked at Mercedes. "Are you ready for today?"

"I guess so. I haven't thought about it. Sam and I have been so wrapped up in the ghosts that we've barely talked about his cousin's wedding. It seems like a lot of work to set up TVs so they can stream it. I guess the bride and groom hired professionals to do the video."

Holly lifted on her elbows to look at Mercedes. "You don't know, do you? No one has told you?"

"I guess not, since I have no idea what you're talking about."

Holly lay back down. "If they weren't so big, I think I'd paddle my nephews. Where should I begin? During World War II, J.T. Smythe married Princess Aria of Lanconia and they became king and queen. When their son was forty, they turned the throne over to him."

Mercedes was watching Holly in shock as she was beginning to see where this story was going.

"Graydon Smythe, the groom, is J.T.'s grandson."

"Oh," Mercedes said. "Oh."

"Exactly," Holly answered. "It is a royal wedding. Graydon will be the next king of Lanconia and Toby will be the queen. And no one told you of this?"

"Not so much as a hint."

"I can understand. To them, Graydon was just one of the kids in the summers. The family switches back and forth from Kentucky to Tennessee. Mostly we just

leave the doors open and keep food out and the kids run wild. A bit chaotic, I guess."

"It sounds heavenly," Mercedes said, her mind still on the big wedding. "I invited Mason and the rest of them over to see the wedding here. How many do you think will show up?"

Holly took a moment before answering. "They'll be respectful of Sam so there won't be too many."

"Just the big guys who can physically deal with him if . . . if something happens?"

"Yes," Holly said. She was looking at Mercedes's frown. "Please tell me what you're thinking."

"No wonder Sam snaps at his cousins," Mercedes said. "He must know why it's only big, strong, healthy young men who hang around him. And the two little ones who can be taken away so they don't see. I guess that's why the men showed up the morning the kids climbed in the bed with us." She closed her eyes.

"You were in bed with Sam?" Holly asked.

Mercedes waved her hand. "Not like that. I was a leftover from his nightmares."

She was thinking about what she'd just learned.

"Mercedes, I don't mean to turn motherly on you, but if you and Sam do become sexually active, you need to be sure to use protection."

"He has an STD?"

"No, that's not possible. The hospital checked everything about him and since then there haven't been any . . . Sorry to give out confidences. No, the problem is that we Evanses seem to be extraordinarily fertile. I'm a living example. Mary swears her youngest two came because she and my brother shared a spoon. It's none of my business, but sometimes in the heat of a moment people can be overcome and forget things."

Mercedes let out a sigh. "Right. Towels fall to the floor and there's all that warm, golden skin."

"I do understand," Holly said. "A man steps out of a shower and he has a face full of whiskers and suddenly you're glad you just washed the bathroom rug because it's up against your back."

"What is it about men's muscles that have a direct connection to a woman's knees? Flex a bicep; bend a knee."

"Brian can look at me over a cup of coffee and I'm on my back. It's as though my mind takes a holiday."

"I figure it's procreation," Mercedes said.

"If we women didn't enjoy how men look and all we could do was listen to them, no babies would ever get made," Holly said.

Mercedes laughed. "I think you're right."

Holly said, "Not to be nosy, but have any towels fallen around you?"

"Uh . . ." Mercedes began.

"Is anybody here?" came a male voice from downstairs. "We have food."

"And beer," came another voice.

Mercedes sat up on the bed. "Take your time getting dressed. I'll deal with the men."

"Your face just lit up," Holly said. "Who are you hoping to see downstairs?"

Mercedes started to answer truthfully, but then said, "Sean," and ran from the room. She went to her own bathroom and put on makeup that she hoped would look like she wasn't wearing any. She reached for her curling iron but didn't pick it up. Instead, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "Pulled back flat," as Sam called it.

* * *

Hunter was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs and smiling up at her. What a sight to wake up to! Men's muscles and women's knees, she thought.

"Good morning," she said. He put his hands about her waist and swung her down the last two steps.

"Good morning. Aunt Mary talked to your cousin, Michael, and he's going to come to Aunt Holly's wedding."

"That's wonderful," Mercedes said. "Please thank her for me."

Mason stepped around Hunter. "These were baked last night. Tell me what you think." He held out a cookie to her, but when she tried to take it, he moved it away. She bit while he was holding it. Ryder came from behind her. "Try this." He held up a glass for her to drink out of. It was a fruity white wine.

"Delicious!"

"Mercedes!" screamed Sean and Stacie as they ran at her at full speed. Hunter grabbed a collar of each child and only released them when they stopped running. When Mercedes knelt, they both hugged her.

"Mom said we could stay only if you said it was okay," Stacie said.

"More than okay. But you have to tell me who everyone in the wedding is. I don't know anyone."

Mason and Ryder had left, but Hunter was still standing there smiling at her.

"Some of the people we don't know," Stacie said seriously. "Uncle Graydon is a Smythe, but he doesn't live in Kentucky." She said this as though it were a very strange thing.

Sean leaned toward Mercedes's ear. "Sam isn't here," he whispered.

"Does that make you sad?" Mercedes whispered back.

"Yes. Our brother almost died. We saw him in the hospital and Mom and Dad cried a lot."

Stacie stepped away and Mercedes drew the little boy into her arms. "Sam's better now, isn't he?"

Sean pulled away to look at Mercedes, his little face close to hers. "My mom says you make Sam laugh and she loves you for that."

"Does she?"

"Sean!" Stacie yelled. "Dad sent cupcakes and he said not to tell Mom." The two children went running. Mercedes stood up and looked at Hunter.

"I lost out to chocolate sprinkles."

Hunter leaned over and kissed her cheek. "All of us thank you," he said softly,then stepped back. "Come on and let's eat, then we'll watch a Smythe get married."

He sounded as if he couldn't believe such a thing could happen. "Sometimes when you kiss a frog you actually do get a prince," she said.

Hunter laughed. "I don't know about the prince part, but you have the frogs right."

* * *

For the next hour everything was so busy that Mercedes didn't have time to think. Another Smythe, named Jake, and an Evans named Elliot showed up, both of them young and beautiful. Part of Mercedes was annoyed that none of the women came. When she asked about them, Elliot said,

"I think they're doing their nails and hair. We decided to leave them to it."

Mason leaned over and whispered, "He's young. The women are doing shots of tequila and reading naughty books. They banished us. We can't live up to their fantasies."

Mercedes was still laughing at the image when Holly came downstairs.

"I think I'll go to Fabray House. My brothers set up a private screen for Burt and me and a few other quiet-loving people. You can go with me, if you want."

"No, I'll stay," Mercedes said.

Holly looked at her hard. "If it's Sam you want, my guess is he won't show up. There's too much noise and too many people for him. You could go to where he's staying, but you'd miss the wedding."

"I'd like to see it."

"Aunt Holly!" Ryder said, then picked her up and whirled her around. "Are you going to dance with me at your wedding?"

"And me?" Mason said as soon as Ryder set her down. He began to dance her around the room. He led her through the big pantry and into the tea room. Mercedes followed behind them and was pleased to see that someone had cleaned up from last night's dinner. The tables were pushed back against the wall. Hunter took Mercedes in his arms and began to dance her round and round. For someone so big, he was certainly light on his feet. Music came from somewhere and Mercedes was passed from one man to another. She was laughing and enjoying every second of it!

"The wedding's about to start," someone called and they all went to the living room—except for Holly, who escaped out the side doors. Mercedes was escorted to the sofa directly in front of the big-screen TV. Mason was about to sit on one side of her and Hunter on the other, but the kids made a flying leap and took their places.

"Brats!" Mason murmured. "Isn't it your bedtime?"

"It's morning and I can outride you," Stacie said.

"And I can outswim you," Mason said as he sat down beside her. He kissed the top of her head—then wiped his mouth. "You have sand in your hair."

"Keeps the boys away," Stacie said.

"I'll have to remember that trick," Mercedes said.

"Wouldn't work for you," Hunter said softly, his eyes on the TV.

"Elliot!" Mason bellowed over the back of the couch. "Popcorn." He looked at Mercedes. "Only thing kids like him are good for."

"I can't think of any other use for him," she said.

"Look! It's Graydon," Stacie yelled, pointing.

On the screen was a photo of two extraordinarily good-looking people. Graydon was tall and dark, while his bride, Toby, was tall and blonde.

"They're beautiful," Mercedes said.

"He's a Smythe," Ryder said with pride. He got popcorn thrown at him. They spent nearly an hour watching guests arrive at the huge Lanconian cathedral where the wedding was being held. The announcer told the names of diplomats and ambassadors as they arrived. When there were personal guests, everyone made comments and explanations.

"That's Dr. Schuester!" Mercedes said, then her eyes widened. "Who is the woman with him?!"

"That's his wife, Valery," Mason said in a low voice, and the room suddenly went silent. Valery Schuester was a striking woman. She had on a green suit that hugged the fabulous curves of her body. A perfect little hat perched on top of her magnificent red hair.

"She's a knockout," Mercedes said. When no one commented, she looked around her. Every male in the room—including Sean—was staring at the woman in wide-eyed, open-mouthed appreciation. Mercedes and Stacie exchanged a look of disgust. Stacie picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

"Oops."

When the men started yelling and racing to get the TV back on, Mercedes and Stacie high-fived each other. Beside them, Hunter and Mason were silently laughing. Mercedes saw Stevie enter through the Burtchen. He nodded at her, but he said nothing as he went to the back of the room and sat down on the old desk chair. When Mercedes saw Sebastian and his wife on TV, she was shocked. Quinn was pretty, but she also looked smart. Not what Mercedes had thought a famous architect would have for a wife. When Quinn turned sideways, Mercedes saw that she was pregnant.

"Another one," Mercedes said, mostly to herself. But Hunter heard her and for a moment he looked at her as though trying to figure out what she meant. He looked back at the TV and just before he put a piece of popcorn in his mouth, he said,

"Is Aunt Holly feeling better?"

"Yes, she is," Mercedes said.

Hunter didn't look back at her, but from the way he smiled, she had an idea that he'd guessed about his aunt. She and Hunter now shared a secret. When the guests were at last seated, the groom and his brother arrived. They were both wearing dark blue uniforms, resplendent with gold buttons and braid on their shoulders.

"Men in uniform," Mercedes said with a sigh.

"Sam has a uniform," Sean said.

"I guess he does," Mercedes answered, smiling at the image. Graydon and his brother, Rory, were joined by another man who was very tall, with skin the color of honey and thick black hair. He had a way of walking that was truly majestic.

"That's Jack," Hunter said. "He's Lanconian."

"Beautiful country," Mercedes said in admiration. The three men walked down the long aisle to the front of the magnificent cathedral. The flowers were so abundant, Mercedes could almost smell them. Next came the two bridesmaids, one a tall woman with long black hair, the other shorter and very pretty. The camera panned to a tall, dark-haired man in the audience. He was so good-looking that Mercedes drew in her breath.

"Who is he?"

For a moment, no one answered. "Roger Plymouth." Mason said.

Mercedes nudged Stacie. "What do you think of him?"

Stacie shrugged. "Nicky is better."

Mercedes looked at Mason in question.

"He's a Smythe cousin, Aunt Carole's son. He's not here."

"Too bad," Mercedes said with an exaggerated sigh. She glanced about the room at the men surrounding her. "I guess I'll have to make do with you trolls."

There were groan of pain, as though she'd wounded them, and Mercedes laughed. It was nice, she thought, to belong. Even if it was temporary, it was wonderful to be part of a real live family. They showed the bride arriving in a carriage with big glass windows, adorned with thousands of little blue flowers. It was so pretty that everyone in the room was silent. The carriage stopped before the cathedral doors and Toby stepped out. She had on a simple dress of white satin covered with delicate lace. The TV announcer said it had been handmade by members of the Ulten tribe ofLanconia. The dress had long sleeves and a high neck. It would have been chaste if it hadn't fit Toby's excellent figure so perfectly. Diamonds glittered on her head, her face covered by her veil. Her train was so long that it took her two bridesmaids minutes to pull it out of the carriage. A handsome older man stepped out of the shadows and offered his arm to her.

"Is that her father?" Mercedes asked.

"Yes," Hunter said.

Mason leaned across Stacie. "Toby's mother was so shocked when she was told of her daughter's royal engagement that they had to call an ambulance to revive her."

"I think Toby looks like a princess," Stacie said.

"Me too," Mercedes answered. Everyone was quiet as the two bridesmaids, then Toby walked down the aisle. When the bride reached the groom, even through her veil, her smile of love could be seen. Mercedes sighed.

"She certainly does like him and I think he might start crying."

"Smythes don't cry!" Jake said.Hunter leaned over to Mercedes and said softly, "Evanses do."

"Hunter, you're . . ." Mercedes couldn't think what to say but just smiled at him. Only when the ceremony began, did she turn away. Some of what the gorgeously clad officiant said was in Lanconian, but not understanding the words didn't take anything away from the beautiful ceremony. Mercedes put her arm around Stacie and the two of them sighed as they watched. As for the men, they were silent. It seemed to be a universal protocol that a royal couple wouldn't be filmed kissing, but as soon as they were declared man and wife, everyone in Mercedes's living room started cheering. Mason picked up Stacie and danced around with her, while Hunter put Sean on his shoulders.

"I am now a princess," Stacie yelled.

"And I'm a knight," Sean shouted.

"Really," Elliot said, "do we get titles?"

Mercedes didn't know if he was joking or not, but it felt good to be part of the celebration. The TV was turned to blaring so the sound of the church bells in Lanconia was nearly deafening. Ryder took Mercedes's hands and began doing a sort of polka around the room with her. Between him and how hard she was laughing, she was dizzy. As he swirled her past the doorway, Mercedes saw two beautiful young lady ghosts standing there and watching them—and they didn't look happy. It was just a flash, but Mercedes thought it was almost as though they were warning her of something. Ryder went around full circle, and when she came back to them, the doorway was empty. Surely, she must have imagined seeing them.

"The reception is next," Mason shouted as he took her from Ryder. "Private camera. Just for us. Want to see the cake? It's ten feet tall."

"I would love to!" Mercedes yelled back. She didn't know what speakers had been installed, but they were so loud she felt like she was in the midst of the cheering crowd in Lanconia.

"Are there any black sheep in your family? Or are all of you perfect?"

"Ryder!" Mason shouted. "Mercedes wants to know if we have any misfit family members."

"Joe," Ryder said as he whirled away.

Mason nodded. "Definitely Joe."

"When can I meet him?" Mercedes said, laughing.

Mason started to reply, but suddenly, everything went silent. The TV was still on, but the sound had been muted. Everyone stopped dancing, laughing, talking.

"Is this for Dr. Schuester's wife again?" Mercedes asked as she looked up at Mason.

"I think I'll tell her husband on the lot of you. He will . . ."

She trailed off because everyone was looking past her toward the front door—where just moments before she thought she'd seen the Tea Ladies. Mercedes dropped Mason's hands and slowly turned toward the doorway, fully expecting to see two semitransparent ghosts standing there. Instead, she saw Sam. He was leaning on his crutches and when his eyes met hers, he smiled. Mercedes didn't understand what was going on. Everyone was still frozen in place, still staring at Sam. She left Mason and went to Sam. "You're just in time to see the wedding reception." She nodded for him to follow her, but he didn't move. Elliot finally broke the silence.

"Sam," he said so very nicely, "can I get you a chair?"

"Take my seat," Ryder said.

"What do you need?" Hunter asked. Their voices were subdued and slower than they usually spoke—and she couldn't figure out why. Stevie was still in the back, near Sam's old desk, and his eyes seemed to be a combination of concern and helplessness. When she looked back at Sam, she at last understood. In their daily activities, they were normal around Sam. But now the chaos made them concerned about how he'd react. They had shut down all laughter because of what he'd been through. While their love and care for him were evident, it still made her stomach heave to see them isolate him as they were doing.

"I think I should leave," Sam said and he turned toward the door. Mercedes didn't know what she could do to stop this, but she damn well had to do something! She put her lips by Sam's ear.

"You turn tail and run away and I will never give you another massage."

When he looked back at her he had a bit of a smile.

"Can't risk that, now can I?"

"No, you can't." She was looking at him hard, using all she had inside her to will him to stay. It hurt to see him ostracized like this! Mason stepped back so Sam could get to the couch. Mercedes watched them, so caring, so concerned, so gentle and nice—and she was so angry she wanted to shoot them. Not even Aphasia with all her deep selfishness had ever made Mercedes this angry. She couldn't sit down. Instead, she went to the Burtchen. She needed to get away from them. She stopped at the old countertop, her hands braced against it, and stared out the window. She was shaking all over as anger ran through her. How could they do that to him? Sam had made jokes about his family treating him like glass, but it hadn't really sunk in. She'd laughed at the images he'd brought to mind. But what she'd just seen wasn't funny. Behind her, she heard the TV come back on, but the sound was turned way, way down. Old people's homes down. Don't wake your dad down. Don't send Sam into a panic attack down.

"They want more potato chips," she heard from behind her and knew it was Stacie's voice. Mercedes had to take a few deep breaths before she could turn around to look at the child. She was standing there holding a big empty bowl and looking up at Mercedes with almost fear in her eyes.

"Are you mad at Sam?" Stacie's lower lip trembled. Mercedes took the bowl from her and set it on the table.

"No. Not at all. But I'mvery angry at everyone else in that room."

Stacie blinked at that, then smiled. "That's okay. I get mad at them all the time. But if you yell at Sam he might get sick again."

"Does everyone always get quiet when Sam comes in?" "Yes," Stacie said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes Sam can't remember where he is."

"I know," Mercedes said, "but I think he's better now." She stood up straight. From what she'd heard, Sam had been back from the war for a long time and he had improved a great deal. But they were still treating him as though he'd come home from the hospital yesterday. If only she could show them that he no longer needed what they were doing for him—at least not to the extent of silence. When an idea came to her, she tried to stamp it down. What she was thinking of doing could backfire, and if it failed, it could make Sam's life worse. It might reinforce the awful—but caring—way his family treated him. On the other hand, she thought, maybe it could help. She looked down at Stacie.

"Are you any good at making noise?"

"My dad says I'm the best there is," she said.

Mercedes nodded. "I want you to get Sean in here. I have a job for you two."

Stacie didn't hesitate as she ran to get her brother. By the time they'd returned, Mercedes had pulled three big metal pans and spoons out of the cabinets. She handed one of each to the children and kept one for herself.

"I'm going to stand in the doorway and when I hit the pan with the metal spoon, I want you two to do the same thing. I want you to yell and scream and bang and pound and make as much noise as you possibly can. Do you think you can do that?"

Sean's eyes were wide. "But Sam will get scared."

Mercedes went to her knees in front of him. "Remember you told me your mom said that I had made Sam better?"

"Yes."

"Then I need you to trust me on this. Will you do that?"

Sean hesitated, but he nodded yes. As she went to the doorway, Mercedes's heart was pounding in her throat, but the scene in the living room made her more sure of what she was about to do. The happy atmosphere in the room was gone. The TV was on but turned so low that it could barely be heard. Everyone was sitting stiffly in his seat and staring at the screen. No one was laughing and any comments were made in the quietest tones possible. Worse was that Sam had left the couch and was near the front door. Stevie was behind him. He was leaving so the others could enjoy themselves. He was putting others before himself.And damn the lot of them! Mercedes thought. She took one more breath then yelled,

"Hey, Evans!"

The sound echoed in the quiet room and every man looked at her, but Sam knew her words were for him. When he turned, for a flash of a second she saw the loneliness in his eyes. He was surrounded by people who dearly loved him, but he was as alone as a man could be. She locked eyes with him—and hers pleaded with him to trust her. Sam looked puzzled, not understanding what she was trying to say. Stevie put his hand on his brother's shoulder, urging him to leave, but Sam stood there, not looking away from Mercedes. As she lifted the big pan and the metal spoon, she didn't break eye contact with him. When she hit the pan, the noise was so loud that even she winced—as did everyone else, including Sam. But he didn't move.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elliot said, and took a step forward. Hunter put his hand out and held his young cousin back. Sam stood his ground, watching Mercedes, trusting her. Behind her the twins took great delight in making a lot of noise. Banging, yelling, stomping. Mercedes kept her eyes on Sam's as she slowly walked forward, the children behind her. They were a little parade. The others in the room didn't make a sound, just stood there and watched. When she was inches from Sam, she stopped and dropped the utensils with a clatter at his feet. Behind her, the children halted, silent as they waited for whatever Mercedes did next. The quiet reverberated in the room. Mercedes and Sam just stood there, looking at each other, not speaking. But Sam knew what she was doing and the gratitude on his face brought tears to Mercedes's eyes. Hunter was the one who broke the silence.

"Sam, I'll arm wrestle you for the seat next to Mercedes," he said in a normal voice. Not one that was unnaturally quiet, not a voice used with an invalid. Just a normal male challenge. Sam's eyes were still on Mercedes's.

"I'd be afraid I'd break your arm."

Mason said, "Would somebody turn up the damned TV? I can't hear it over all the noise Sam is making."

In the next second the TV was turned back up. Not to blaring, but loud, and Ryder put his arm around Sam's shoulders and led him away.

"How about abeer?"

"With all my meds?" Sam said. "I'd start seeing flying monkeys. You have any colas?"

Mercedes stood where she was for a few moments. Sam looked back over his shoulder at her but then was overtaken by a gaggle of cousins. The twins wanted to do more banging, so they were told to go find their father and make him crazy. It was all so deliciously, divinely normal. Just exactly what Sam had said he wanted.Mercedes managed to walk back to the Burtchen and once there her legs gave way and she collapsed onto a chair. Her whole body was shaking. It could have backfired. She could have traumatized Sam forever. She put her head in her hands.

"Your instinct was right," said a voice from across from her. It was Hunter. She didn't remove her hands.

"I could have failed horribly." Her voice was full of the tears that were threatening to come.He put his hands on hers, pulled them down, and she looked at him.

"But you didn't fail. And you weren't acting blind. You know him. You've spent a lot of time with him. You made an educated guess based on him. Not on a textbook case but on one man in one situation."

Mercedes blinked back the tears. "I guess so."

"I know so." Hunter was still holding her hands. "You did something great for all of us."

"How is he?"

Hunter leaned the chair back, looked around the corner, then set the chair back down. "He's laughing. He and Mason are watching TV and arguing about some really dumb thing a Smythe is doing."

"That's wonderful," Mercedes said, but she could feel the tears starting. Hunter stood up and pulled her up with him.

"I am ordering you to go out and get some fresh air. Walk into town and buy yourself something pretty. You deserve it."

"Thank you," she said. "Do you think he will—"

"Tell me you're not going to ask how Sam will be without you."

Mercedes smiled. "I guess not."

"Go on. Go out through the tea room and no one will see you. The wedding is being recorded so you can see it later." There was an eruption of laughter from the living room and Hunter smiled. "When it's quieter in here."

Mercedes nodded, then left the house through the tea room.


	16. Chapter 16

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

Mercedes wandered around town, past beautiful little shops full of jewelry, clothes, and furniture. Part of her felt like she was floating. She had taken such a very big chance with Sam. That she'd won seemed to be beside the point. She kept telling herself that she must never, ever, never do anything like that again, but as Hunter had said, this had worked because she knew Sam. As she looked in the store windows, she kept thinking about him. What clothes would he look good in? What would he like to see her wearing? A window display of shoes made her remember his jokes about the flats she'd bought the day Dr. Schuester visited. Candy reminded her of how much he'd liked the chocolate-covered cranberries she bought him. Actually, there didn't seem to be anything that didn't remind her of him. This morning when he'd arrived at the house she'd wished everyone would disappear so she and Sam could watch the wedding alone. It would be just the two of them as they'd been in the first days. But his family was nice. Overwhelming, yes. Invasive, maybe. Sam had warned her about them, had said that if they got to be too much he'd send them away. But it had been fun to laugh with them. Dance. Celebrate. Participate in their happiness. After Holly's wedding they'd all leave again, and she and Sam would have their house back. No! she told herself. After the wedding, they'd leave, then she'd return to working on Sam's body. But when he was well, he too would leave. Then what? Mercedes thought. She'd met so few Nantucketers that she'd be alone on an island, her job of treating one person finished. Her roommate would be gone. The only thing she'd have left was an old house with a couple of ghosts. All in all, it was a daunting prospect and she needed to decide what she was going to do. Her first thought was to talk with Sam about it, but how could she do that? Ask him what she was going to do with her life without him in it?

Not quite!

At the edge of the water, she went to a seaside restaurant, sat outside, and ordered a glass of tea and a salad.

"Hello," came a woman's voice. Mercedes looked up to see a pretty woman, older, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She'd seen her somewhere before and it took her a few moments to realize where.

"Book covers."

"Yes. I'm Mary, Sam's mother. May I sit with you?"

"Please do," Mercedes said. "I've already ordered, but I could get you something."

"Maybe some tea." She signaled the waitperson. "Hunter said he sent you away, so I've been looking for you. I'm sorry I haven't been over to introduce myself, but we thought it would be better to give Sam some space. We all tend to hover over him. I think we made the right decision."

"He's done well."

"Because of you," Mary said.

"He's a strong man and he's done most of the work himself."

"I'd heard you were modest, but this is beyond the call. Any physical therapist could have done the bodywork, but you've worked on the underlying problem."

As Mercedes's salad arrived she thought about being gracious and saying thank you. This was Sam's mother and one of the bestselling writers in the world. She was a bit intimidating. Mercedes decided on the truth. "I can't take full credit for his success because everything I did was by accident. There were times when I thought he was going to drive me insane. What I had to go through to get his clothes off was a nightmare!"

"Was it?" Mary asked as she sipped her tea. "Tell me every word."

When Mercedes started talking, she couldn't seem to stop. She started at the beginning, with Sam's refusal to undress, then his nightmares and the "sleeping kisses" she'd used to calm him down.

"He was like that as a child," Mary said. "He was the most affectionate boy there ever was. Stevie was always more reserved, but Sam loved to cuddle."

As Mercedes took a drink of her tea, she thought, He still does. "Why did he go to war?"

"The million-dollar question," Mary said. "The one we all asked him so many times. It boils down to social conscience. He felt that he has so much while others have so little. He wanted to share his good fortune."

"That's what I guessed. He really is the kindest man I've ever met."

"Is he?" Mary asked, acting as though she was calm, but her mother's heart was doing flip-flops. She loved nothing better than hearing that her children were seen as the magnificent beings she knew them to be.

"I guess you heard what happened earlier."

"Yes," Mary said, "I did. In full, glorious detail from Stacie. She thinks you're wonderful, and she usually thinks adults are, at best, overrated. But she loves her brothers very much. When Sam was near death I feared that we'd lose her too."

"I'm sorry for that," Mercedes said. "It must have been so awful for all of you."

Mary was watching her. "From what I hear, you haven't had such an easy time lately either. Sebastian told me about your stepsister."

Mercedes leaned back in her chair as the waitress took her plate away. "That problem is being taken care of."

"If you hadn't come home early and discovered what was going on, it might have been your untrained stepsister with my son. I don't like to think about that."

Mercedes laughed. "Aphasia is beautiful and always lands on her feet. Sam would have managed well enough with her."

"I don't think you're right," Mary said.

"But you've never met my stepsister." Mercedes didn't want to talk about Aphasia anymore.

"How's the wedding coming? Oh, no!" She looked at her watch. "I promised Holly a massage today and it's getting late. She needs one."

"Because she's pregnant?" Mary asked.

"No one's supposed to know that."

Mary smiled. "If the Evans are good at nothing else, they're exceptional at making babies, and we know when one's due. My mother-in-law told me I was carrying twins when I was four weeks along. I laughed at her. I said I was too old and I'd had my children. But as you've seen, Stacie and Sean are here."

"And aren't you lucky?"

"Oh, yes," Mary said. "I am lucky in all aspects of my life. I see you have a few bags with you, but would you mind doing some shopping with me? There's a jewelry store just down the street, all handmade items, and I'd like to see it."

"I'd love to, but I need to see Holly."

"When I left she was going for a nap, and she doesn't know it, but Brian is on his way here. He'll be able to relax her even better than you can."

"I'm sure he can," Mercedes said, smiling. "But if you have her number, I'd like to call her."

"Certainly," Mary said, and mentally added "conscientious" to the list of traits for this young woman. Holly's daughter answered the phone and said her mother was sleeping but that Holly would be fine with the massage being postponed. Mercedes paid her check and she and Mary left together.

"I like her very much," Mary said to her husband over the phone. Mercedes was in a dressing room trying on an outfit to wear to the wedding. "She talks about Sam all the time."

"That's understandable since they've been more or less living together for some time now," Dwight said.

"Sam lived with Penny for two years, but I never heard her say that Sam liked anise seed cookies, or that he wanted a house with a porch. And the sight of a chicken that wasn't butchered and on a plate would have sent her running."

Dwight rolled his eyes. "Okay, I got it. Everyone in the family knows you hated Penny. She's gone, so there's no more worry about her marrying Sam. Mary, my dearest wife, can't we leave it up to our son to choose who he wants to live with?"

"Men are idiots about women. Remember how you—?"

"Not again!" Dwight said. "That was nearly thirty years ago."

Mary took a breath. "Yeah, I know and I've forgiven you, but I still worry. Stevie's being even quieter than usual and that worries me too."

"I think you should step back and let the kids figure out their own lives."

"I guess you're right. Do me a favor, will you? Ask Kris if she brought that lace Dolce dress she wore last Christmas. If she doesn't have it with her, get someone to overnight it. I think it would look great on Mercedes and she can wear it to Holly's wedding."

"You aren't buying Mercedes a lot of things, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I didn't even pay for her lunch, but then I think if I'd offered to, Mercedes would have refused. She has a very independent spirit."

"Interesting," Dwight said. "She has an independent spirit and a lying, cheating, thieving sister. Sound like anybody else we know?"

Mary grimaced. "Be glad I'm already married to you because if the offer came up again, I'd probably say no."

"That's not what you said last night."

"Sex yes, conversation no."

"Sounds good to me," Dwight said.

"Yeah, well—I have to go. Mercedes's coming. And keep the yes to sex in your mind."

"Always do," Dwight said as he hung up.

Mercedes truly enjoyed shopping with Sam's mother, and it was a brand-new experience for her. Before her grandparents left, Mercedes had been too young to care a lot about clothes. Anything that was pink and sparkly suited her. After they left, clothes shopping had been left up to Roz. That had consisted of Roz saying "Maybe we can find something in the husky department that will fit you." Back then, Mercedes had been normal-sized, but compared to the very thin Aphasia, she was almost big. Being with Mary and hearing her opinions about what looked good on Mercedes and what didn't was wonderful. They were in their third shop when two beautiful young women walked past the store.

"It's Madison and Jean," Mary said. "Mind if we ask them to join us?"

"I, uh . . ." Mercedes hesitated. The girls were tall and thin and almost as beautiful as Aphasia. She didn't want to try on clothes around them! Mary seemed to understand Mercedes's hesitancy.

"They're nice girls. Trust me," she said over her shoulder as she went out the front door and returned with the two young women. When they were inside and she got a closer look at them, Mercedes couldn't help gaping at them.

"You're Ryder and Mason."

The girls laughed. "Exactly right. Ryder is my brother," Jean said, "and Mason is Madison's brother."

Mercedes was looking at them in curiosity. "If you two look so much like your brothers, does Hunter have a sister who looks like him?"

The three women nearly exploded in laughter. "Hunter has a younger brother and that's all. No sisters."

"I think that may be good," Mercedes said, and there was more laughter. She'd thought that shopping with Mary was fun, but it didn't compare to being with the young women. It was another new experience for Mercedes. After Roz and Aphasia had arrived in her life, there had been little money. Her grandfather's income from the home bookkeeping service he ran was gone, and with the garden flattened, their food bills—mostly takeout—skyrocketed. Add that to Aphasia's endless lessons and the clothes she needed for auditions, and there wasn't a lot left over. Now, for the first time in her life, Mercedes could afford new clothes. But what was most fun was the giddy laughter of the women. Mary stepped back and watched as the girls moved through the stores, looking at everything.

"Mercedes," Jean said, "this would look great on you. Try it on." It was a pretty cotton dress with a tight, low-cut bodice.

"I've never worn anything like that. The top isn't exactly modest."

"That's the point," Jean said.

Madison agreed. "If I had your rack, I'd wear sundresses in the snow. And I'd bend over a lot."

Mercedes still hesitated.

"Sam would like it," Mary said, then smiled when Mercedes snatched the dress from Jean's hand.

"That's right," Madison said. "Penny used to wear—" She stopped at the looks Jean and Mary gave her. "Sam will love it."

Mercedes was behind the curtained dressing room. "Who's Penny?"

"Old girlfriend," Jean said. "Long, long time ago. So what do you think of my brother Ryder?"

"Intense," Mercedes said as she stepped out in the peach-colored sundress with the little knit jacket. It was indeed quite low cut, but it looked very good.

"Isn't he?" Jean said. "I'm always telling him to lighten up. You must buy that. It was created for you."

"Stacie said Ryder was dancing around your house," Madison said. "That doesn't sound like him."

"Everybody was celebrating the royal wedding," Mercedes said. Madison paused while holding up a very cute leather jacket.

"Even Sam?"

"No dancing for him," Mercedes said, "but I think after I left he stayed to watch the reception on TV." She was going through the racks and looked up to see the two young women staring at her.

"With all those people around?" Jean asked. "I know they're family but still . . ."

"Tell them what you did," Mary urged. "Stacie called it the Pan Parade."

"I didn't hear about that!" Jean said, sounding shocked.

"I was scared to death," Mercedes said, then told the story from the beginning.

"What did you do when you realized it was the sight of Sam that had made everyone stop?"

They kept shopping as Mercedes talked. She didn't leave out how frightened she'd been or how it all could have backfired. And she told them what Hunter said afterward. When they were on the street, Jean and Madison walked in front, with Mary and Mercedes behind.

"You seem to like Hunter a lot," Mary said.

"I do. He's been kind to me and he's a very perceptive man." Mercedes saw that Mary was frowning. "But he's not Sam," she added.

Immediately, Mary's frown disappeared and she slipped her arm through Mercedes's.

"Want to come to Fabray House tonight for dinner?"

"Thank you for the invitation, but I need to work on Sam's leg." She wasn't sure if she should say that she was looking forward to a quiet evening at home. While the day had been exciting, now she wanted to tell Sam about everything that had happened and . . . well, to just be alone with him.

"I understand," Mary said. "I have just one more errand. I have to buy my eldest sons some clothes. They both packed too little. Too bad you don't have time to help me choose some things. I could buy for Stevie and maybe you could pick out some clothes for Sam."

"Oh!" Mercedes said, her eyes wide. "I think I could manage that. Sam has practically nothing here, mostly just workout clothes. He needs some nice, casual shirts and a few buttoned cottons. Green is his color. It brings out his eyes. And he could stand a couple of cardigans to wear in the evenings. I saw some heavy white cotton ones he might like. Plain but good quality, that's what he'd like. And he needs socks. Maybe we could get—"

Mary turned away to hide her grin. _Oh, yes, mothers loved people who loved their children._

Sam was stretched out on the couch in the tea room, his arm across his face, his head on the pillow that had been made from the bird embroidery. It had taken a while, but he'd finally rid the house of relatives and he was enjoying the quiet. Now if Mercedes would just return from wherever she was, everything would be perfect. Hunter said he'd sent her off to do some shopping and give her some time away from taking care of all of them. At that thought, Sam smiled. Mercedes did take care of people. Whether it was working on a Smythe's tennis elbow or digging into Hunter's lats, Mercedes was always helping someone. This morning had been horrible for him. After Stevie left Rashad's house, Sam had been torn between wanting to put himself between Mercedes and his male cousins, and staying where he was. Mercedes had won out. When Sam got to her house, things were worse than he'd expected. All of them were dancing. His slick Smythe cousins were waltzing Mercedes around like they were at some formal ball. If that weren't bad enough, the noise nearly killed him. They'd installed the kind of speakers used in rock concerts, so bells were ringing, people shouting, music blaring. Sam's mind began to go round and round. Stevie saw him from across the room and was about to run to his brother's aid. But then Mason saw Sam in the doorway and instantly muted the TV. Everyone knew what that meant: Fun-killer Sam had arrived. He pivoted on his crutches to get the hell out of there, but first he wanted a look at Mercedes. He wanted to tell her that he was there and if she needed him . . .

But who was he kidding? She was dancing and having a great time. She didn't need to be reminded of her burdensome wounded soldier. He was turning to leave when she told him he couldn't go. But a glance at his cousins and he knew he had to leave. How could they have a good time if Sam was there? Mercedes persuaded him to stay, but everyone was so subdued that he couldn't take it. He got up to leave. When he saw Mercedes in the kitchen doorway with a big spaghetti pot and a spoon in her hand, he had no idea what she was doing. Cooking for everyone? But her face was more serious than he'd ever seen her. It was as though her eyes were trying to tell him something—but he had no idea what it was. At her first bang on the pot, he understood what she was doing. She and the sprouts made lots of noise but it hadn't bothered him in the least. It was unexpected noise and cacophonies where he couldn't tell where all the sounds were coming from that sent him spiraling. He kept his eyes on Mercedes's as she walked toward him, bashing away on the big pot, the kids trailing behind her like noisy little ducks. When she got to him, he wanted to kiss her. Wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her with all the thanks and appreciation and gratitude he was feeling. She had never treated him as though he were about to break. She'd never been frightened by his attacks. Never . . .

He was standing there, eyes locked with hers, when his cousins took over. Mason nearly dragged Sam to the couch, while his other cousins made their stupid whose-is-biggest comments. Sam went with them because he wanted to show them that he could participate, like he used to, but he also wanted to find Mercedes. But by the time he could excuse himself from being in front of the TV, Mercedes was gone. He'd ended up sitting in the back beside his brother, eating popcorn and watching his princely cousin use a sword to cut a giant wedding cake. Every few minutes he'd looked around to see if Mercedes had returned, but she hadn't. After a while, he and Stevie went to the gym to work out. Hunter joined them and they stayed there for hours. When Sam returned to the house, Mercedes still wasn't there. He showered, put on clean clothes, and went downstairs to get something to eat. No tea was set up and he missed it. No, actually, he missed sitting there with Mercedes. What the hell was she doing?! Where was she? He began to feel so agitated that he knew he had to calm down, so he went into the tea room. It's where he'd spent so much time with Mercedes, where they had shared laughter and . . . and one intimate, too-quick time together.

He stretched out on the couch, the same one the two of them had sat on together and talked of ghosts while a cozy fire burned in the fireplace. A knock on the door made his heart leap. Was she home? As he started to get up, the door opened and he saw his father.

"Hi, Dad," Sam said and lay back down.

"I know that look," Dwight said, smiling. "I'm not the girl."

"No, I'm glad to see you. Everything okay?"

"Yes," Dwight said as he sat down in a chair near his son. As always, he scanned his son, glad all his limbs were there, glad he was alive. "Your mom went into town to search for Mercedes."

"Does she know what she looks like?"

"Sure. She saw your Mercedes asleep, remember?"

"She's not mine," Sam said. "Not really."

"That's what I want to talk to you about."

Sam's eyes were closed. "I know how babies are made and I will respect her in the morning."

When Dwight said nothing, Sam knew he'd stepped over the line. "Sorry. It's been one hell of a day."

"So I heard. Your little sister told us every detail. She's very happy that she no longer has to tiptoe around you."

"When did she ever?" Sam sat up on the couch and was surprised at the seriousness on his father's face. He'd seen this particular expression only a few times in his life. One time was the night before he left for war.

"What is it?"

Dwight took a breath. "You know the story of how your mother and I met?"

"Sure. I've heard it a thousand times. You took some women on a trail drive and she was one of them. Mom says she fell in love with Stevie and me first. You came later."

Dwight smiled in memory. "That's true. She was so mad for you two that I was afraid she was going to kidnap you." He paused. "Has she ever told you about the other women who were there?"

"Oh, yeah. She used to make Stevie and me laugh about them. A former cheerleader and an herbalist and another one. I can't remember what she did."

"It doesn't matter. I think that if I'd gone to counseling back then I would have been diagnosed with PTSD—if it was a name then. I was still grieving over your biological mother. At least that's my excuse. One of the women on the drive looked like my late wife and I went after her with no holding back. I was a charging bull. Nothing, not common sense or intelligence, got in my way."

This was all new to Sam and he tried not to show his surprise. "Not even Mom?"

"Especially not her. It took me a long time to see how much your mother meant to me. You can't imagine how close I came to losing her."

"But you did the James Bond act with the helicopter. Mom said it was the epitome of romance."

Dwight put up his hand. "I had to do something big to cover my stupidity. But before that I had to get to the point where I swallowed my pride and admitted I had made a wrong choice. When I finally regained my senses, your mother was there. I still believe that I only got her because she's a writer."

"How do you figure that?"

"If a gorgeous creature like her had been out and about instead of locked up with her books, another man would have snatched her up."

Sam smiled, but he'd heard the story from his mother's side, about how she was miserable while she waited for him. She'd thought he didn't want her.

Sam's head came up. "This is about Mercedes, isn't it?"

"I'm trying to teach you from my mistakes. You need to say something to Mercedes. Don't put it off. Don't let it hang in the air."

"Isn't this kind of fast?" Sam said. "Mercedes and I've known each other a very short time."

"True, but I've seen you two together and—" He paused. "It's your life and I've always sworn to leave the interfering to your mother. But in this case, I wanted to give my opinion."

"The truth is," Sam said, "I'm not sure I'm what any woman should have to deal with. Not yet. But thanks to Mercedes, I'm making rapid progress. Maybe when I'm a whole person again, I can think of, as you say, 'speaking' to a girl."

"That makes sense," Dwight said. "As soon as you get back to being who you used to be, you should talk to Mercedes. Tell me, do you still think champagne is a food group?"

Sam groaned. "Dad, that was one time and one night. I was a kid smarting off. I've been through a lot since then. There's been school and war. Remember them?"

"I do. Do you remember them?"

Sam frowned. "I've got the scars to show for one of them."

"You sure think a lot of those scars, don't you?" He stood up. "I gotta go. My wife and my children need me."

"Subtle, Dad. Really subtle."

Dwight went to the door. "Your mother taught me to say what I needed to when it should be said. If you want to come over tonight, we're all having dinner at Fabray House. We decided to spare the restaurants the family's presence."

"I think Mercedes and I will stay in tonight. We have some things to talk about, and—" He broke off at the knowing look on his father's face.

"A girl who'd rather stay home with you instead of partying. Not exactly what the old Sam would have liked, is it? See you tomorrow." He left, closing the door behind him. Sam flopped back against the couch.

"See what I have to put up with?" he said to no one—but then he figured the Tea Ladies were there. He picked up the box of research Holly had collected and began to flip through the photocopies. A picture fell onto the floor and he picked it up. It was a glossy magazine photo of a very pretty engagement ring. Very simple, very elegant, and he thought Mercedes would like that. In the next second he tossed the photo onto the coffee table.

"Et tu, girls?"

As he stretched out on the couch and began to read, he was sure he heard dual giggles.

By the time Mercedes got home it was after six. She had so many bags to carry she could hardly walk. Mary had offered to send some of the "boys" to help her, but Mercedes said no. She really hoped that Terry had shown up with her little cart full of food-from-around-the-world, so she and Sam could eat and talk. She wanted to tell him who she'd met that day and ask him about the other family members she'd heard mentioned. And she might bring up Penny and ask who she was. And Mercedes looked forward to showing him the clothes she'd chosen for him. She might even be persuaded to model what she'd bought for herself. Mercedes thought about how they'd go out to the gym and she'd take Sam through his exercises. She'd check to see how his knee was healing. And maybe a towel would once again fall to the floor. When she got to her front door, she was surprised to find it locked. She looked in her purse for the key but couldn't find it. When she lifted the brass dolphin knocker and gave it a couple of bangs, no one came to the door, and she didn't see any lights on in the house. She gathered her pile of shopping bags and went around to the side of the house. Just as they'd been told, the doors into the tea room were temperamental. Sometimes they would open with a light turn of the knob, but sometimes they were locked tight. She was glad to find that this time they were not only unlocked but one of them was standing open a few inches.

"Is this an invitation?" she laughingly asked the resident ghosts as she went inside. "Or are you just helping with all these bags?"

She put them on the floor by the couch and turned on a table lamp. On impulse, she dumped all Sam's new clothes out and began spreading them over the furniture. There were sweaters, shirts, and even trousers that she'd chosen with the help of Mary. "He can roll these sleeves up," she'd said to his mother.

"Sam won't like that," Mary said. "His arms . . . He wants them covered."

"I think he should get over that, don't you?"

"Yes," Mary said, smiling. "Think we could get him into a pair of sandals?"

They looked at each other and shook their heads. No way, they agreed. For Sam, it was barefoot or shoes and nothing in between. When Mercedes heard a sound coming from the kitchen, she went through the pantry. As with the side doors, the door into the kitchen was half open. Mercedes was about to step inside when she saw Stevie. He was standing as Sam sat down at the table and leaned his crutches against the wall.

"All I'm asking is that you be cautious with Mercedes," Stevie said. "Don't mistake gratitude for love."

Whatever else he was about to say, Mercedes didn't want to hear. She took a step forward to show herself, but the door into the kitchen moved, as though it meant to close. The movement was so disconcerting that she stepped back into the darkness of the pantry.

"I'm not confusing anything," Sam said. "I like her a lot. You saw what she did today. It was more than all those counselors I went to did."

Mercedes had no interest in hearing what Stevie had to say, but she did want to hear Sam. She leaned back against the shelves and listened.

"To be fair to all those highly tHunterd specialists," Stevie said, "a lot of time has passed since then."

"But Mercedes—"

"I agree," Stevie said, cutting his brother off. "Mercedes is a great physical therapist. What she does is almost magic, and her grasp of what needs to be done is brilliant. I don't dispute any of that. What worries me is that she might see you as just a patient. Will she still like you when you aren't freaking out at thunderstorms?"

"Who says I will recover?" There was anger in Sam's voice.

"You will," Stevie said. "That's not the problem. You know that I was all for her, but now that I've seen her . . . I don't know, there's something missing. I think she's falling in love with our family, not you. You should have seen her today when the wedding was on. She was flirting and sharing secrets with Hunter so much anyone would have thought they were a couple. I'm not disparaging her as a person. I just think she hasn't made up her mind about who she wants." Stevie paused for a moment.

"Mercedes's had a life with almost no family. She desperately wants a family like ours. Right now, what I'm seeing is that she might take any one of us who asked for her hand in marriage. Or maybe she's set on Mike." Stevie's head came up.

"You haven't had sex with her, have you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Great," Stevie said sarcastically. "I hope you used protection. Where is she, anyway?"

"Shopping with Mom and some of the girls." Sam's voice was heavy.

"Then she'll be back soon," Stevie said. "She'll want to tell you how great our family is. I better get out of here. She doesn't like me."

"Right now, neither do I," Sam said.

"Just think about all this, will you? You're a prize catch and I just want to be sure who the fisherman is."

"I think you should leave now," Sam said.

"Okay, I've had my say and I won't mention it again. I'll see you tomorrow."

Mercedes was still leaning against the shelves. She heard the back door open and close, then after a moment she heard Sam get up and go outside. It was a while before she could push away from the shelves and walk back into the tea room. The clothes she'd so joyously spread out for Sam to see were still there. When she picked up a sweater, her hands were shaking. Had she really made a fool of herself in front of his family? She remembered dancing with them, laughing—and the massages! Had they all thought Mercedes was just trying to worm her way into their beautiful, rich family? She folded Sam's clothes and neatly piled them on the couch. Stevie said he thought she was so desperate for a family that she'd accept any man who asked. And Hunter! Even Mary had asked what was between her and Hunter. Mercedes picked up her shopping bags. On the top was the pretty sundress Madison and Jean had chosen for her. Had the girls laughed at her too? She walked to the door at the far end of the room. It was closed.

"Okay," she said aloud, "I heard what you wanted me to, so now let me out of here."

She wasn't the least surprised when the door opened by itself.

"Thank you," she said and went up the stairs to her bedroom, closed the door, and locked it. Thirty minutes later, she was in bed, wide awake. The joy of the shopping trip was gone and all she could think about were Stevie's words. What made her so deeply angry, what hurt the most, was that Stevie was right. She was desperate for a family. She had been flirting with Sam's relatives. She hadn't recognized it until now, but she realized that every moment since meeting them, she'd imagined being part of the big Smythe-Evans family. But Stevie was also wrong. She liked Sam the best. From the first day they'd met, they'd worked together, talked and laughed as though they'd known each other forever. His injuries were the least of it. His laughter, his concern for others, all that was what she liked so very much. As for Stevie saying she'd marry any of them, that certainly wasn't true. Ryder was too remote. Mercedes thought a woman would have to work too hard to really get to know him. Mason had the air of someone who would be happiest living in a tent on a mountainside. Hunter . . . Well, there wasn't anything wrong with Hunter. Except that he wasn't Sam. As for Stevie, she did not like him. How could he be Sam's brother? They didn't even look alike. And the more she was around him, the less attractive he seemed.

But Mercedes knew that what she thought about them wasn't the problem. It was how they saw her. Throughout her life, she'd always had goals. The only time she came close to giving up was when she learned that her father had allowed her college fund to be spent on Aphasia's many lessons. It had been a dreadful scene. Roz had cried and said that when Aphasia was a famous actress or singer or model she'd repay everything.

"You'll get it all back," Roz said, tears glistening in her once-pretty eyes. Mercedes had been devastated. As usual, her father dealt with the turmoil by getting in his car and driving away. As he went out the door, he mumbled,

"Sorry, Mercedes. I thought the money would be replaced by now." She knew that Roz had talked him into believing that Aphasia was always just a day away from great success. But then Roz knew enough to never let him attend any of Aphasia's lessons. But Mercedes had seen and heard them. Aphasia couldn't carry a tune, her acting was flat, and she was stiff in her dancing lessons. She couldn't even master the runway walk in her modeling classes. It was Mercedes's opinion that the harder Roz pushed, the worse Aphasia did at every lesson—and furthermore, Mercedes thought Aphasia failed on purpose. One time, when Mercedes was driving her stepsister home from a session, she said,

"If you don't want to take all these lessons, then you should tell your mother so."

"I guess you would do great at them, wouldn't you?" Aphasia said nastily. "Are you hiding some fabulous singing voice?"

Mercedes'd just sighed. It was no use trying to talk to Aphasia about anything. On that horrible day when she'd been told that the money that had been put aside for her college tuition was gone, Mercedes had gone into shock. Her dad left right away. Roz was holding Aphasia as though to shield her, her eyes daring Mercedes to say something negative. But Mercedes knew that going into a rage wouldn't put the money back in the bank. She went outside and without even thinking about what she was doing, she went across the street to the Chang's house. Only Mike was home. By that time he was in law school and had a girlfriend. He answered the door to Mercedes but barely glanced at her.

"I've got something on the stove," he said. She followed him to the kitchen and sat down on a stool at the counter. She was too stunned to be able to speak. Mike slid an omelet onto a plate.

"I came home unexpectedly, but Mom still left for the weekend," he said. "Looks like the honeymoon stage is over. I'm having to fend for myself. The worst thing is that I only know how to cook omelets so I've been eating them twice a day." He put the plate in front of Mercedes.

"There. Eat it."

"I can't. It's . . ." She was afraid to speak for fear she'd start crying. "If your mom isn't here, I'd better go."

"No," he said firmly. "You and I have to eat because we need our strength for what's coming."

She looked at him.

"I know I'm not Mom, but you're going to tell me every word of whatever Aphasia and Roz did to you this time."

Mercedes stared in horror. "I can't . . ." she whispered.

"Can't talk to a friend? I don't believe that. Are you old enough to drink coffee?"

"I'm eighteen."

"Are you?" Mike said. He had his back to her as he made a second omelet. The toaster popped up.

"Could you get that? And put a lot of butter on mine. I need the energy for when I tell you what my girlfriend did to me."

Mercedes got off the stool and went to the toaster.

"What did she do?"

"Nope. You first, but I bet I can top whatever you have to tell."

"My dad let Roz and Aphasia take the college fund my grandparents set up for me. I don't know how I'm going to pay for school."

Mike halted with a plate in his hand and stared at her. "Mercedes, that's serious. Is all of it gone?"

"Every penny."

"Did your dad leave?"

"So fast that he's probably in Texas by now."

Mike shook his head. "That's some family you have. Come on, let's take this into the study. We have to figure out how to get a brain like yours into school." She followed him down the hall and they spent hours figuring out what Mercedes was going to do. Mike made calls and looked online. In the end, Mercedes didn't get to attend the school she'd dreamed of, but she did go to college. And she did so well there that she qualified for a partial scholarship for the second year. But the summer after her first year, her father and Roz were killed in a car accident and Mercedes had to put her education on hold to take care of Aphasia.

The sound of Sam on the stairs brought her back to the present. In spite of his crutches and the brace, he made little noise. He went into his bedroom and she heard the shower running. There was a bit of quiet, then she heard him go downstairs. A few minutes later he was again on the stairs, but his gait was hesitant. Her first thought was that he'd reinjured his knee, and her impulse was to run to him. But she didn't move. When he tapped lightly on her door she didn't respond, but then it was as though Stevie's words were screaming in her head. Playing over and over.

"Mercedes?" Sam said. "I made us some tea. It has lots of milk in it, the way we like it."

Don't be a coward, she told herself, then she got out of bed. She grabbed her robe from the back of the closet, put it on, and opened the door. To her dismay, Sam was shirtless. He had on gray sweatpants that were barely hanging on to his hips. A tiny tug on the drawstring and they'd fall to the floor. In spite of all his scars, he looked so good her heart started pounding. If Stevie's words weren't in her head, she would have dragged him back to bed with her. But she didn't. Instead, she smiled pleasantly and took both mugs of tea from him.

"How did you manage to get up the stairs on crutches with these in your hands?"

"Miranda and Mercedes carried them up for me."

She didn't laugh, and when he took a step forward as though he meant to go into her bedroom, Mercedes slipped past him to the sitting room. She sat down on the window seat, put one mug on the sill, and began sipping from the other. She saw the frown he gave as he turned and took the other end of the seat.

"Aren't you cold like that?" she asked.

"I'm still sweating. I did two workouts today. The first one was with Stevie and Hunter."

My enemy and my supposed lover, she thought but didn't say. "I'm sorry I didn't work on your knee today."

"What you did this morning was the best therapy I've ever had."

"I guess I'm good at my job." She heard the underlying anger in her voice.

"Are you okay? Did something bad happen?"

"I think I'm a little homesick," she said. "I guess being around your family makes me miss my own. My dad's birthday is in a few days and I really miss him. He and I used to drive from Boston to Fort Lauderdale to see my grandparents. We'd spend a week at a time with them."

"Did you?" He sounded surprised. "You never talk about your father or your stepmother, or Aphasia."

"I guess I don't. Maybe it was because my mother had passed away, but it made my dad and me closer. He bought me my own cell phone when I was just five and he called me every day. When I got older, he included me in his work. By the time I was ten I was pretty much his secretary."

"Isn't that asking a lot of a child?"

"I loved it!" Mercedes said. "It made me feel needed. He'd call and say someone had a question about some drug. He knew I'd have read all the info on it so I had the answer. My teachers used to laugh at the way I rattled off the scientific names of prescription drugs. There was an anti-drug campaign at my school and I was called on for advice."

"I had no idea," Sam said.

He was leaning back against a cushion and he looked so very good. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him. The only light was from the open door into her bedroom, and it showed the curves of his muscles. How easy it would be to put her mug down and slide forward. She knew how his skin would feel under her hands. But, no, the words that were in her head were stronger. He ran his hand over his bare stomach.

"You know, I think I've lost weight too." When Mercedes didn't remark on that, he said, "What about Roz?"

Mercedes gave a little laugh. "She was a character! She never cleaned anything, couldn't cook, didn't understand the concept of organization, but she was fun! If it snowed, she'd drag Aphasia and me outside to build a snowman and we'd drape it with every piece of costume jewelry Roz had. Our snow lady would have four-inch-long rhinestone earrings and a tiara."

Sam was looking at her in surprise. "I got the idea that things in your family were different. What about your stepsister?"

Mercedes took a moment to answer. While she could sugarcoat Roz and her father, she knew she wasn't creative enough to gloss over Aphasia. "We learned to live together," Mercedes said. "But then I always had Mike and his mother nearby, and they made it bearable."

"Mike seems to have been a big part of your life." Mercedes saw the way Sam's jaw muscles tightened at the mention of the name and she was glad of it. "Yes, he was. Whenever Aphasia pulled one of her tricks on me, Mike was there to make me laugh. He'd tell me how smart I was and how people liked me so very much. He's a truly honorable, caring man."

"I guess you'll be glad to see him when he gets here," he said softly.

"I look forward to it very, very much." When Mercedes glanced at Sam she saw what looked like pain in his eyes. If she hadn't heard what Stevie said, she would have told him that even when she was an adult, Mike always treated her as a child. But she didn't reassure Sam. Instead, she waited in silence. If there was the possibility of anything permanent between them, wouldn't he say something? Even if it was just a hint? But Sam said nothing. Mercedes put her empty mug on the windowsill and got up.

"I need to go back to bed. Thank you for the tea. It was very thoughtful of you."

"You said you were homesick, but the people you love are . . . gone. So is it Mike who you're homesick for?"

"I guess so," Mercedes said, even though it was a lie. But letting him think that was better than Sam believing what Stevie had said—that she was desperate for his family. What a terrible word. Desperate. She paused at her bedroom door.

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything," he said.

The look in his eyes made her want to go to him. It was a kind of emptiness that she'd seen flashes of, but it had never lasted long. Now it seemed to be there permanently.

"Could you ask your family to stay away tomorrow?"

Sam's eyes brightened. "You want us to stay here alone, just the two of us? I'd like that too. We could—"

"No, that isn't what I meant. All this"—she waved her hand to indicate the house—"has made me think about things. I'm a single, unattached female with good credentials. I can live anywhere in the U.S. No! In the world. So I'm going to try to get a really fabulous job in some place that's glorious. Do you think I could get your father to write me a recommendation?"

"Yes. Everyone in my family will write letters praising you. My uncles know people who can help you find a job—if that's what you want." His voice had a tone of resignation to it, as though he knew he'd just lost something important.

"That's a very kind offer, but no thanks. I'd like to be hired on my own merits, not because I know the right people. I was thinking that in a week or so you'll have healed enough that you'll no longer need twenty-four-hour supervision. Once you leave, I'll be free to go and do anything. See the world." She smiled at him as sweetly as she could manage. "I owe all of your family. You've made me see possibilities. Goodnight. See you tomorrow."

He didn't say anything, just looked at her. Mercedes went into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. As she leaned back against it, she couldn't help the tears that came to her eyes. She'd wanted to know if there could be anything more than work between her and Samuel Evans, and now she knew. It looked like his little jealous fit about Mike had been just that. A male marking his territory. It had been a spur-of-the-moment idea to apply for a job somewhere. What had she expected him to say? "No, don't leave. Stay here and let's get to know each other better?"

How ridiculous that was!

But as much as Stevie's words had hurt—especially about her father—Mercedes also remembered what he'd said about her work. Maybe she wasn't good enough to be part of his illustrious family, but she was good at her job. "Magic" and "brilliant" were the words Stevie had used. She got back into bed and turned out the light, but she didn't sleep. She waited until she heard Sam go to his own bedroom. His walk was slower, as though his leg was hurting him. Only when she heard the clink of his crutches as he dropped them did she start to settle.

"Are you happy now?" she whispered into the dark, meaning her words for the ghosts in the house. "So much for matching people up."

She felt like crying, but then she began to feel very calm. When she'd first heard that the Tea Ladies showed themselves only to people who'd not yet found their True Loves, she'd immediately thought that hers was Mike. All she had to do was make him see that she was all grown up and he'd realize how compatible they were. They'd had a lifetime of sharing laughter and good times. They knew each other, understood each other. So why not keep on with it?

"Is that it?" she whispered. "I was getting too close to Sam? I was forgetting Mike? Are he and I True Loves?"

She couldn't remain awake. As she heard the swish of a silk skirt, sleep overcame her. She didn't awaken at two A.M. and if Sam had a nightmare, she didn't hear it.


	17. Chapter 17

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

Mercedes put the papers she'd printed out down on the desk and leaned back in the chair. Her shoulders were stiff from sitting in front of a computer for most of the day. When she woke up this morning she'd made a plan to be as cool as possible to Sam. She'd be professional but nothing else. No joking, no teasing, just do her job as best she could. Sam had done what she asked and his family had stayed away, so all day it had been just the two of them. In the early morning she'd worked on his knee. No full massage, but she'd manipulated his leg deeply. She could feel that a lot of the tension had come back into his body, but she didn't work on it. Only once did he refer to her near silence. She was directing him in some gentle leg lifts and she could see by the sweat on his forehead that he was in pain. He didn't complain. What he said was

"If you want to talk, I'm here."

In answer, she gave him a cool look but no words. Ever since they'd met, their attention had been on him—and rightfully so. His war injuries, the skiing accident, his fears, all took precedence. But today had been about Mercedes. Whatever his personal feelings about her applying for a job were, he'd put them aside and helped her. He called people and got information. His uncle Jared had had a few good suggestions.

"The trouble is that I have so little experience in physical therapy," Mercedes said as she looked at her updated résumé. "Massage, yes, and I worked part-time at the hospital with a great teacher, but . . ."

"You need to include what you did for your father," Sam said.

"How do I put that on my résumé? Do I tell that when I was fourteen the principal called me in to ask about the drugs they'd found in an illegal search of the kids' lockers? Kids were putting oxy in bottles labeled for allergy medicines." She looked at Sam, her eyes wide.

"Think your principal would write a recommendation for you?"

"A glowing one." She turned back to the computer. "Thanks," she said.

* * *

All day Sam stayed in the room and read one of his detective novels. It seemed natural to discuss with him whatever she was writing or finding on the

Internet.

"What about San Francisco?" she asked. "I could apply there."

"Beautiful city. Hard driving on the hills, but a nice place."

"Portland sounds good. Or maybe I should go south. Maybe Arizona. Or California."

"They'd all be lucky to have you," he'd said and gone back to his book. Only once did he again suggest Tennessee. "My family would love it if you lived there."

Every word Stevie had said came to Mercedes and her face showed it.

"Okay," Sam said, his hands up in surrender. "I get it. You've had enough of us."

"Your family is lovely," Mercedes said, "but I want to make it on my own."

When Sam just nodded, Mercedes thought how astounding it was that you could spout a current cliché and be believed. Every TV show and movie had some smart-talking girl saying she wanted to make it on her own, so when she said the same thing, no one seemed to question it. But Mercedes didn't actually want to be on her own. She would love to have help and get a job someplace where she knew people. How could she do it all by herself? Get an apartment, furnish it, meet people, make a social life as well as a professional one? Or could she stay on Nantucket and try to meet people here? But she didn't let Sam see any of her doubts. By evening she'd sent out over two dozen emails of inquiry. She'd asked people for letters of recommendation, asked institutions about possible jobs, and had even printed out a few pages of places to live in some glamorous cities. But the thought of leaving her house in Nantucket made a wave of sadness pass through her. At dinner—prepared together—Sam reminded her that Holly's wedding was tomorrow.

"You want to go with me?"

"I'm not sure I should go," Mercedes said.

"Mom sent over a dress for you to wear. She said it's really pretty."

"I can't accept—"

"It's a loan," Sam said, sounding agitated. "Not a gift. It belongs to one of the cousins and you can give it back to her after tomorrow." He put his hand on hers.

"Mercedes, please tell me what I or my family have done to offend you." She pulled her hand away. "Nothing. All of you are perfect. You are beautiful to look at, interesting personalities. There's not a flaw in any of you."

"Okay," he said. "Just know that Aunt Holly will be hurt if you're not there. What happened between you two the night she and Uncle Burt came over? She's called me twice asking about you."

"Nothing happened." She couldn't meet his eyes. Maybe the females in his family knew about the pregnancy, but few of the males did. And until Mercedes knew for sure that Brian had been told, she wasn't saying a word.

"I see," Sam said and got up from the table.

"You don't want any dessert?"

"No, thanks," he said. "Just leave all this and I'll clean it up later. I'm going to the gym for a while."

Of course Mercedes didn't leave the cleanup to him. After the kitchen was tidy, she thought about what to do. The big TV was still in the living room and she could watch it, or she could go into the tea room and read the research Mary had assembled. But Mercedes couldn't bear to go into that room. Sam's clothes were still in there, piled on the sofa, and she didn't want to see them. The clothes she'd purchased for herself were still in bags in her bedroom. As always, when Sam wasn't around, the house seemed big and empty. Like my life, she thought, but then brushed the thought away. By nine Sam still hadn't returned to the house. Mercedes was tempted to go out to the gym, but she didn't. Instead, she went upstairs and got into bed, planning to read one of the novels on her e-Reader. Instead, she fell asleep so deeply that she didn't hear Sam come up the stairs.

* * *

A pounding woke her. At first she didn't know what it was and she lay there for a few seconds before she realized it was someone at the front door.

"Sam!" she said, thinking that something was wrong with him. She leaped out of bed and ran to the stairs. But Sam was already halfway down, clutching the banister, his crutches nowhere to be seen. When he turned to her, his face was white, and she knew what he was thinking, that something horrible had happened to his family.

"Stay back," he said. "I'll handle this."

"Your family wouldn't knock," she said as she hurried past him and flung the door open. A young man she didn't know, college age, was standing there. The goofy grin on his face made her realize he'd been drinking.

"He said he was staying at the Jones house. We had a hard time finding the place." His words were slurred. "If you're Mercedes, he says he loves you."

"Who says that?" she asked.

Sam was behind her and opened the door wider. He was taller and could see over the boy's head. Behind him were two more college boys holding a man upright. He was in his thirties, rumpled suit, black hair, and was clearly feeling no pain.

"How much has he had?"

"A lot," the boy replied. "He said he wanted to go back to college and do everything all over again."

"Who?!" Mercedes asked again.

The boy stepped aside.

"Mike!" Mercedes ran to him.

"Mercedes," Mike said, smiling, his eyes half closed. "You are beautiful. I don't remember you ever before looking this good." Grinning, he looked at the three boys around him. "Didn't I tell you she was great?"

"Yeah, you did," the first boy said appreciatively, then looked at Sam. "Can we leave him with you?"

"Take him upstairs to the bedroom on the left," Sam said.

"But that's your room," Mercedes said.

"I have a feeling you'll want to be near him tonight and there's no place for you to sleep downstairs."

"But you—" She stepped aside to let the young men toss Mike's luggage in, then push-pull him up the stairs.

"Don't worry about me," Sam said. "Take care of your friend."

Part of Mercedes was pleased at Sam's words, but part of her was annoyed. What happened to that delicious jealousy of his?

"And put on some clothes!" he added. Mercedes glanced down. Her big T-shirt exposed her bare legs. When she walked up the stairs in front of Sam, maybe she swayed her hips just a tiny bit more than was necessary. She went to her bedroom to pull on jeans and apply a bit of makeup to her sleepy face. It was Mike! He was here! When she got to the hall, the college boys were just coming out of the bedroom.

"That guy sure knows his stuff," one of them said.

"Mike?" Mercedes asked. "Did he give you some legal advice?"

"Him? No." They were laughing. "He told us to stay away from women forever."

"He's had a hard time lately," Mercedes said. "Do you guys need a ride somewhere?"

"No, we're walking." They went down the stairs and paused at the bottom.

"He's too old to go drinking. You better keep him home with you."

"I'll do that, thanks," Mercedes said. They left and she went into Sam's bedroom. Mike was in the bed, half sitting up and grinning.

"He threw up outside," Sam said, "so he should be better tomorrow. We got his clothes off and put one of my clean shirts on him. He still stinks, but I wasn't going to hold him up in a shower and wash him." He looked at her. "Or maybe you'd like to do that."

"I'll pass on that, but thank you for doing this. I hate running you out of your bed. You want to use mine?"

Sam took a moment to answer. "I'll accept that invitation when you're included in it." He stepped back from her. "I'll leave you to it. See if you can get some more water inside him. But then I'm sure you know that." He left the room.

* * *

"Mercedes," Mike said as soon as they were alone.

"How are you?" she asked as she bent over him. Sam was right: He did stink.

"I've been better."

She went into the bathroom, got a washcloth, soaked it in cold water, and took it back to put on his forehead. She considered pulling up a chair, but it would be too short for the bed. Instead, she climbed up beside him, sitting on top of the covers. Mike's eyes were red and seemed to be floating around in his skull. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. Mercedes leaned toward him and smoothed his hair back. For Mercedes, it felt good to touch his hair, his face, his neck. He kissed her palm.

"I've made a mess of it."

"Of what?"

"My entire life."

She gave a little laugh. "Far from it. Your mom says you're about to make partner and that you're the youngest one in the firm to do so."

Mike waved his hand. "That's me. Best lawyer Boston has. I win all my cases. It balances out my personal life, where I lose everything. Did you know that I've proposed marriage to three women?"

"Yes," she said.

Mike groaned. "Of course you do. Mom told you. One turned me down, the other two said yes but later dumped me. I should buy engagement rings in bulk I'll put in a standing order with the jeweler. With the number of them I buy, I should invest in a diamond mine."

"They didn't return the rings?" Mercedes asked.

"The last one did." With a sound of pain, he pointed toward his jeans hanging over a chair. "Look in the pocket."

Mercedes got off the bed and searched the pockets until she found the ring. It flashed in the light of the room. There was a diamond in the center surrounded by what seemed to be dozens more little diamonds. They surrounded the larger stone, went down the sides and halfway around the band. "Gaudy" was the first word that came to Mercedes's mind.

"Did—what was her name? Brittany?—choose this?"

"Yes, she did," Mike said.

"I think Aphasia would love it," Mercedes said as she got back on the bed beside him. He groaned.

"That's your ultimate condemnation."

Mercedes was toying with the ring. "You said you took Aphasia to work with you."

"I did. But if I tell you the truth about that, you'll hate me."

She picked up a bottle of water from the bedside table and held his head as he drank. "No, I won't."

Again he kissed her palm. "Why can't I marry someone like you?"

"I have no idea," Mercedes said seriously. "In my opinion, that's one of the great mysteries of the universe."

Mike pulled back to look at her, blinking to clear his eyes. "You're different. Something's happened. You've changed."

"Maybe getting out of the house where I grew up has let me see some things differently."

He was staring at her. "You look really good. I mean really _really_ good."

Mercedes could feel herself blushing. "Everybody and everything looks good when you're drunk. So what happened that would make me hate you?"

Mike turned away. "I used Aphasia, just plain used her."

"Sex?" Mercedes was trying to sound coolly sophisticated, but her nails were biting into her palms.

"Lord, no! What do you take me for? I used Aphasia to make me look less like a failure. I put her in a pair of four-inch heels, a Chanel suit, and took her to work with me to show her off. I wanted Brittany to see that I wasn't suffering because she threw me over for a bigger diamond, a bigger house, a bigger life."

He let out his breath. "But it all backfired on me. Aphasia came on to one of the partners. When he told me what she'd done, he said that if I wanted to make partner I needed to get another kind of woman for a wife. He said I should get someone to run a home for me, to entertain clients. Someone I could have kids with." He looked at her. "He meant someone like you, Mercedes."

She laughed. "I'm the girl next door. Only men from elsewhere marry us. We're exotic to them."

He took her hands in his. "I've thought about you these last few days. You're perfect. You always have been. And I've always loved you. You know that, don't you? And you're a saint. You took care of your whole family without one complaint."

"I never stopped complaining. Ask your mother. She dried my tears." Mercedes started to get off the bed, but Mike held on to her hand.

"You have the ring?"

She handed it to him and he slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand.

"Think about it, will you?"

"I think this is the best drunken marriage proposal I've ever had."

His eyes were beginning to close. "Have you had many proposals? I ask because I pass them out like party invitations. Marry me, have my kids, live in a four-bedroom three-bath, have date night on Fridays, come watch me coach Little League. Why are women today so repulsed by that?"

"I have no idea," Mercedes said honestly as she got up, took the washcloth off his head, and tucked him in.

"Let me hear you say yes," he murmured. "I've had too many nos lately."

"Yes," she said. "You won't remember any of this in the morning, so I accept. Now, sleep well and you can go to the wedding with me tomorrow."

"Aphasia said her wedding colors would be purple and green. Does that sound good or not?"

"Why were you and Aphasia discussing her wedding plans?" Mercedes asked, but Mike was asleep.

* * *

"What the hell do you have on?" Sam said through clenched teeth when Mercedes walked into the kitchen the next morning. She glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt, not understanding what he meant.

"I'll change before the wedding. I hope you will too." He had on sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt that, as usual, covered most of his body. Sam pivoted on his foot, took her left hand in his, and held it up.

"What is this?"

The big engagement ring sparkled in the early morning light. "Oh. That. I couldn't get it off. Are there any more of those cranberry muffins? I think Mike might like them."

She tried to step around Sam, but he wouldn't move, just stood there staring at her.

"Are you planning to marry him?"

Mercedes gave a little laugh as she sidestepped and went to the refrigerator.

"Maybe. He asked me and I said yes, so that could mean I will. But on the other hand, he was drunk. If you'd stayed longer he might have asked you."

Sam stood in the middle of the room, glowering. "If you think this is all a joke, why do you have that ring on?"

Mercedes was rummaging in the fridge. She needed to buy groceries. Now that she had two men to feed, she should buy a lot. When she closed the door, Sam was standing there.

"Mercedes?" he said with exaggerated patience. "What's going on?"

She saw a basket with a big napkin in the center of the table. It held an assortment of muffins. There was also a full teapot. When she sat down and began to eat, Sam took the place next to her. He was waiting for her to sighed. Obviously, he wasn't going to give up.

"Mike's had a hard time lately. Well, maybe not just recently but ever since he was in college. I guess you could say he's been very unlucky in love."

"You're saying that a bunch of women dumped him so now he's going after you?"

"Yes, I mean no. He was upset last night, that's all, and he showed me the ring that had been returned to him."

"And you put it on?"

"Actually, he slipped it on my finger. I tried to take it off before I went to bed but it stuck and I couldn't get it off this morning either." She held out her hand.

"What do you think of it?"

"Garish. Flamboyant. Not like you are. Mind if I try getting it off?"

"Be my guest." He pulled her up and led her to the sink, where he spent nearly half an hour working to remove the ring. He tried bar soap, liquid soap, Crisco, butter, and bacon grease. None of them budged the ring. Through all of it, Mercedes kept smiling. She liked standing so close to Sam, liked his concentrated effort to get the ring off.

"I think my finger is swollen," she said, "and until the swelling goes down, the ring will stay there."

"There's a toolbox in the—"

"No!" she said and curled her hand up. "Could we please just have breakfast? What time is the wedding?"

"Ten. I showed you the church. After the ceremony, we're all moving to Quinn's chapel for the reception. There are big tents there."

"It sounds great. Will there be dancing?"

"Into the night. Tell me about you and Mike. Is he why you were sulky all day yesterday?"

"I wasn't sulky! I just wanted—" She was not going to be put on the defensive.

"Mike is my friend and he's always been there for me. Whenever something bad—or good—happened in my life, Mike was there. I wouldn't even have gone to college if it weren't for him."

"What did he do?"

"It's a long, boring story, but if it weren't for him I probably would have gone from high school to working in a burger joint. But besides the big things, Mike held the back of my first two-wheeler. When a toy broke, Mike fixed it. One time when I was in high school, he heard that I'd gone out on a date with some kid he knew and Mike came to get me. He knew that my date often bragged about what he did with girls in the backseat of his dad's car. I was really mad at him then, but later the boy nearly raped a girl. Mike saved me. See? He and I have a long history together."

"It sounds like my little sister and me," Sam said. "I took her on her first ride on a horse. I walked her pony over her first jumps. I've become an expert at putting heads back on dolls. I can even rebraid the hair of a Barbie."

"But you two are related. It's different with Mike and me."

"It seems so," Sam said, "if he asked you to marry him. You two set a date yet? Choose your wedding colors?"

She got up from the table. "You're being a jerk and I don't want to talk about this any longer. Tomorrow I'm going to the local hospital to talk to them about temporary work." She put her dishes in the sink. He went to stand beside her.

"You can't be thinking of moving back to Boston to live in some perfect little house with him. Is that really what you want? No ghosts floating around? No bothersome naked cousins? No man who freaks out when a car backfires?"

"Stop it!" Mercedes said. "Mike is—" She wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly their anger turned into passion. Sam pulled her into his arms and kissed her. At first the kiss was hard and she pushed at him. But his big body against hers made her pull him closer. His lips on hers softened and the kiss deepened. His tongue touched hers. Mercedes forgot who she was, where she was. Only this man and this moment mattered. When he lifted her and set her on the table, she didn't protest. His hands went under her shirt and her bra unsnapped. He took his lips away only long enough to pull her shirt over her head so she was bare from the waist up. In the next second, his shirt came off. His beautiful chest, scarred as it was, was against her breasts, his hot, bare skin next to hers. Mercedes's heart was pounding, her breath coming fast. His lips were on her breasts, her neck, then back up to her waiting mouth. All she wanted in the world was to get the rest of their clothes off.

"Mercedes?" came Mike's voice. "Where are you?"

It took long moments for her to realize where she was and who was calling her. She pushed at Sam, but his eyes were glazed, as though he were in another world.

"Sam!" Mercedes hissed. "Let me go!" She pushed hard at him. "In here," she called to Mike as she ducked down and slid off the table away from Sam. She grabbed her T-shirt and hurried into the pantry. It was only when she was in there that she realized her new lacy black-and-pink bra was still in the kitchen, hanging by a strap on the back of a chair. She peeped around the door to Sam. He was pulling his shirt on over his head.

"Pssst!" she said and pointed to her underwear. Sam started to reach for it, but Mike appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning," Mike said. Sam put himself between the Asian man and the chair. Behind his back, he lifted the bra.

"How are you feeling today?" Sam asked as he moved sideways across the kitchen toward the pantry.

"Not so good but better than I thought I would. Is there any coffee? And where is Mercedes? This is her house, isn't it?" Mike wiped his hand across his face. "I don't remember too much from last night, but I did see her here, didn't I?"

"Sure you did. She stepped outside. Let me get her." Sam went into the pantry, closed the door behind him, and held out the bra to Mercedes.

"He doesn't even remember last night, but you're wearing his ring!" he whispered.

"Turn around," she whispered back.

"We were just about to make love for the second time, and now I'm not allowed to see you?!"

"Sex on a table or against a wall isn't making love. It's two people who have been doing without for a long time in a situation where they can't control themselves."

"I've been 'controlling myself' for over two years and I've been in lots of easier situations than this one."

Mercedes turned her back on him and removed her T-shirt. She put her arms through her shoulder straps of the bra and tried to fasten it in the back. But her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't do the clasp.

"Here!" Sam said angrily. "Let me." He quickly put the hooks and eyes together. She turned back to face him.

"You're good at that, aren't you?" she said just as angrily. He was staring at her breasts in the bit of lace that had been designed to lift and enhance. It was doing its job very well.

"I have cousins," he said softly.

"What does that mean?"

"Girl cousins cut their teeth on boy cousins. I've fastened so many bikini tops I couldn't count them." He looked back at her eyes. "That's what relatives do. They help each other."

Mercedes pulled the T-shirt over her head. "I guess that's supposed to mean you think Mike and I are related. Well, we're not. Would you move so I can go to him?"

"Of course. Go back to the rebound guy who gives you a used engagement ring that you don't even like."

"Once again, you're being a jerk." She had her hand on the doorknob as she looked back at him.

"You wouldn't tell Mike about . . . about us, would you?"

"About our extreme sexual attraction to each other? That every time we get too close, clothes go flying? Is that what I shouldn't tell him?"

Mercedes couldn't help herself and laughed. "However colorfully you state it, just don't tell him, all right? Whatever you think, Mike is real to me."

"And I'm not?" Sam asked softly, all his anger gone.

"You and your whole family are a fantasy. Will you promise me?"

Sam closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I'll keep my mouth shut. Anything else you want from me? Blood on a contract?"

"You are too much! Just behave yourself and don't hurt Mike."

"Hurt him?" Sam said. "What makes you think I'd—?" But Mercedes had left the big pantry and closed the door behind her. He leaned back against the wall

and closed his eyes. He did need to get himself under control. There was a sound, as though something on the shelves had moved. He opened his eyes and saw that by the door into the tea room, a little wooden butter mold had fallen to the floor. When he picked it up and put it back on the shelf, he saw the piles of clothes on the couch. He could tell the clothes were for him and he guessed that Mercedes had brought them back from her shopping trip.

Why had she left them in the tea room? Why hadn't she shown them to him? All he could figure out was that she was very angry at him about something, but he had no idea what. All day yesterday, every time he got too near her, she jumped away. She had stayed intently focused on trying to find a job somewhere in the U.S. If he so much as mentioned that he might possibly like to spend time with her past when his knee was healed, she bit his head off. Sam had backed down, pretended to read a book, and just answered questions. He refrained from saying,

"I have PTSD. What's your excuse?" He didn't think Mercedes's bad mood would allow her to laugh. But that evening, the arrival of a drunken, stinking, Asian lawyer had turned her into a pot of melting honey. Instantly, her snapping turtle persona was gone and in its place was an ooey-gooey, eyelash-batting girl who nearly swooned at the sight of a skinny, tall guy with regurgitated beer down the front of his shirt. Sam was sure his own actions got him some high marks in Heaven. He had helped his rival get into bed, checked his vitals, and even got the boys to help clean him up a bit. All for Mercedes.

Sam picked up a sweater off the couch. It was exactly the kind he liked: good quality but not flashy. The complete opposite of that hideous ring that was nearly welded to Mercedes's finger.

"You two did this, didn't you?" he said aloud to the spirits in the room.

"You're two well-meaning old biddies who want Mercedes to get a whole man, not a damaged one like me. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

Sam threw the sweater back onto the couch. "The hell with the lot of you!"

He turned on his crutches and went out the door. He needed to get dressed for his aunt's wedding and as soon as it was over he was going home. Back to Tennessee, where only horses stamped a man's heart to the ground.

In the tea room, two beautiful young women looked at each other and smiled.

In their experience, sometimes you had to light a fire under a man to get him to do what he should.

* * *

"Mercedes," Mike said when she entered the Burtchen. He'd showered, washed his hair, and put on one of Sam's sweatshirts—which hung on him.

"I was beginning to think I'd dreamed you last night."

"No, I'm very real. Want some coffee? There are muffins on the table."

"Actually, I am hungry, but I don't see the muffins."

Mercedes looked up from the coffee pot and saw that the basket was gone. She looked under the table, but it wasn't there either.

"Wind blow them off?" he asked.

"Something like that. How about some toast?" She had to turn away so he wouldn't see her blush. Sam tossing her onto the table must have sent the whole basket flying somewhere.

"Mercedes, you look great. Have you lost weight?"

"I think so, but I don't know how. There's a B&B next door and the owner's mother brings us lavish teas with cakes and cookies, and we eat every bite."

"The 'we' refers to you and your client? Is he the blond guy I just met? On crutches?"

"Yes, that's Sam. He got you into bed last night."

"I'll have to thank him."

Mercedes put a plate of buttered toast in front of him.

"That's an interesting ring you're wearing," Mike said. Mercedes tugged at it but it didn't move.

"Sorry. I couldn't get it off. Sam tried but no luck." She poured him a cup of coffee. "I'll stay away from the salt today and it'll come off."

"I think it looks good on you. I didn't, by chance, ask you to marry me, did I?"

Mercedes smiled as she cracked eggs into a bowl. " 'Fraid you did, but I won't hold you to it."

He didn't say anything until Mercedes handed him a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon and sat down across from him with a cup of coffee.

"I took the slow ferry to the island, the one that brings cars over," Mike said. "I wanted time to do some thinking."

"Did you?" She sipped her coffee. "About you and Brittany? Or your job?" She wasn't going to remind him that he'd told her last night what the partner at his law firm had said about getting a wife and kids.

"Neither. I was thinking about that old adage of doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. That's what I do. I fall for these knockout, gorgeous women who care only about my future prospects. Not about me but about what they can get from me. The minute they find someone who seems to be moving up the ladder faster, they leave me behind like a snake shedding its skin."

"That's some comparison."

"Am I shocking you? I guess since I've always seen you as a little girl, I used to dull down my conversation. But you don't look like that now. You are one hot babe."

Mercedes laughed. "Thanks."

"Anyway, all the way over on the ferry I was thinking about you and me. I'd like for us to get to know each other better—but in a different way. Do you think that's possible?"

What he was saying was wonderful, a dream come true. But at the same time, something about it bothered her, though she couldn't put her finger on what, exactly. Maybe it was the word "gorgeous." He said he usually liked "knockout" women, but now he wanted to go another route—and that seemed to mean Mercedes. It looked like she was a woman he was sure wouldn't dump him.

"Did you know I took those papers out of the trunk of your car?" he asked. Mercedes was so deep in her thoughts that at first she didn't know what he meant. But then her eyes widened. If the papers she was to deliver to her boss had been in the trunk where she'd put them, she wouldn't have gone back to the house to get them. If she hadn't returned, she wouldn't have found out that Aphasia was trying to steal a house that had been willed to Mercedes.

"I knew Aphasia was up to something," Mike said. "She borrowed a fancy tea set from Mom. I couldn't imagine any of Aphasia's boyfriends drinking tea out of a porcelain cup. I thought you should look into what was going on, so I ran across the street and took what looked to be an important package out of your car and put it inside the front door. I watched and saw Aphasia pick it up."

"Why didn't you just tell me what you suspected?"

Mike shook his head. "Mercedes, dear, if I'd told you Aphasia was up to something, you would have stayed away until midnight. Both you and your dad always ran away from Aphasia. You still do."

That was news to Mercedes. "Do I? I always thought I stood up to her."

"Sometimes, I guess." He didn't meet her eyes. "Now that I've been on the receiving end of her selfish little tricks, I better understand what you endured." Mike reached across the table and took Mercedes's hand in his. "I wish I'd helped more when you were a kid."

"You couldn't have done anything, and you helped me a lot." She smiled.

"Don't forget that if it weren't for you I wouldn't have gone to college. And now I owe you for all this." She gestured toward the house. And I wouldn't have met Sam, she thought but didn't say. She pulled her hand from Mike's.

"I'm going to a wedding that starts in about an hour and a half. You can stay here or come along. Did you bring any nice clothes?"

"I'm a lawyer, so of course I brought suits. I just have no idea where they are."

"I'll go look," she said, but Mike caught her arm.

"Mercedes, I'm making a mess of what I'm trying to say, but I want you to think about you and me. We could have a good life together. I've thought about nothing else for the last few days and I think it could work. You're already part of my family."

"Mike, this is all so sudden and unexpected. I don't know what to say."

"I know, and that's my fault. I should have had sense enough to see what was right in front of me. But I didn't. Will you promise to think about this? And later we can talk. I won't leave until we do."

"All right," she said. "I promise. But I have to get ready now."

"Sure. I look forward to spending time with the new you. I think we could work something out."

He sounded like he was negotiating a contract. She gave him a bit of a smile, then hurried from the room. Right now she couldn't think about what Mike was saying. All she could think about was seeing Sam. Their fight had upset her. How was he feeling?

* * *

She went up the stairs, but Sam wasn't there. The bed had been made and a big leather hanging bag was spread out on it. She knew without asking that it was Mike's. She could almost hear him saying that the expensive piece of luggage looked like something a lawyer on his way up would carry. Mike had always valued image. Sam wasn't anywhere upstairs. It looked as though he'd gone to the wedding without her. Ahead of her, she corrected herself. She couldn't blame him for wanting to be with his family. It was only when she went back to her bedroom and opened her closet door that she saw the dress. No, actually it was The Dress. She'd only seen garments like it on movie stars. It was short, with a scoop neck, sleeveless, simple really. But it was far from simple. It was made of an unusual pale pink lace, kind of crocheted, kind of embroidered, all under a very fine net. Mercedes'd said she didn't want to wear anything from Sam's family, but that was before she saw this dress. She knew without trying it on that it would fit. On the floor was a pair of cream-colored high heels with a rhinestone ornament across the toe. Manolo Blahnik was written inside them. For a moment Mercedes thought about ignoring the outfit. She'd bought a perfectly respectable navy-blue dress to wear to the wedding. But then she stared at the beautiful dress and glanced at the shoes and decided to go with the exquisite pink dress that Mary had specifically sent for her. She made a quick trip downstairs to tell Mike his luggage was there and that she was going to get dressed.

"Meet you in an hour," she called as she ran back upstairs. She went to the bathroom, wrestled with a curling iron, and managed to put her hair up on her head. Little tendrils fell down beside her face. One thing she'd learned from being around Aphasia was how to pile on the makeup. She had one of those little kits of eye-shadows and she used every one of the earth colors. Blush followed base, then she outlined her lipstick. When her hair and face were done, she went to the bedroom and stripped down to her skin. She was glad she had pretty, white, matching underwear. The dress felt as good on as it looked. It had been lined with some silky fabric that slid over her skin. And it fit perfectly—as did the shoes. There was a little white beaded clutch on a shelf and Mercedes quickly put her keys, credit card, some cash, and a lipstick in it. She was almost afraid to look in a mirror. When she did, she saw a different person than the one who usually stared back at her. Mike was right. Something had changed in her. There was a soft knock on her bedroom door and she immediately thought, Sam! But she found Mike standing there wearing a dark suit. She had the great satisfaction of seeing him inhale sharply, and he seemed to be speechless. Mercedes turned full circle.

"How do I look?"

"You . . ." Mike could do little more than stare. "Stunning," he said at last.

"Are you really the little girl with skinned knees who lived across the road from me?"

"One and the same." Oh, but it felt good to have a man look at her as Mike was doing! It was a kind of power she'd never felt before. Men used to say,

_"Mercedes, do you know if your dad has a hammer I can borrow?"_

But right now Mike was looking at her the way men looked at Aphasia. "_Can I get you something?" _they asked her_. "Can I do something for you?_"

"Shall we go?" Mercedes asked, her voice as demure as she could make it.

"I would be proud to escort you," Mike said and held out his arm to her.

* * *

The sidewalk in front of the church was full of people, all beautifully dressed. Suddenly, Mike halted, holding her to him.

"Mercedes, that's Dwight Evans and next to him is his brother, Josh. And the man on the left is Mason Smythe senior."

"Really? I bet he's Mason dad. I'll have to introduce myself." She started forward, but Mike didn't move.

"Mercedes, you don't seem to realize who these people are. They own things. Big things. We've been trying to get the Smythe-Evanses to our firm for years. To handle just one percent of their business would make us. If I brought them to the firm, I could write my own ticket."

Mercedes realized what he was saying. "I'd prefer that you didn't do any business today. They're nice people, not clients to be won." When she looked at Mike, his eyes seemed to be glazed.

"There's Uncle Burt. I have to talk to him. Why don't you . . .?" Burt was walking away. "I'll see you inside," she said to Mike and left him as she hurried to the church.

"Mercedes, my dear, you look quite lovely," Burt said.

"Thank you. I have a favor to ask of you."

"Anything." They started up the church steps.

"Would you please find Hunter and ask him to stay with Sam today? Sam's in a bad mood and I'm afraid the noise will cause him some problems."

"And our strong young Hunter can get Sam out before he is embarrassed?"

"Yes," Mercedes said, grateful for his understanding.

"How very kind of you, especially since it's my guess that Sam's agitation is caused by the rather remarkable ring you have on."

Mercedes held up her hand. "Awful, isn't it? It's not mine, but I can't get it off."

"The question is how it got on your finger in the first place."

"I accepted a marriage proposal, but it wasn't real." She nodded toward Mike, who was earnestly talking to Sam's father—who was scowling. "Oh, no. I have to rescue Mike before an Evans steps on him."

Burt laughed. "I am assuming that he's your fiance. What I'd really like to know is why you don't tell Hunter yourself. Has something happened between you two?" Mercedes's smile disappeared. "Let's just say that someone thinks I'm too friendly with Hunter."

"And of course that would be Stevie. You are having some problems, aren't you?"

"Yes," she said. Burt tucked her arm into his. "Why don't you sit by me? I'll be sure young Samuel is taken care of and I will do my best to see that no one grabs your fiance by the collar and throws him out."

"Thank you," Mercedes said, and truly meant it.

* * *

Once they were inside the beautiful old church, Burt stepped aside for a moment to talk to an older man Mercedes'd never seen before.

"It's all been taken care of," Burt said when he returned. "And now we may enjoy Holly's beautiful wedding."

Burt led her to a third-row bench. He sat on the aisle, with Mercedes beside him. The church was filled with roses of pale colors: cream, pink, yellow. There were tall vases of more roses in the front, all of them making the church smell divine. Mike slipped into the pew beside her. "I met all three of them," he said under his breath as he pretended to read the wedding program.

"I don't think they're going to move their business to my firm, at least not yet. But I've made a connection." He turned to look at her. "Mercedes, I had no idea you knew people like this."

She had to work to keep from frowning at Mike. As the guests arrived, she said hello to everyone she'd met. Madison and Jean told her the dress looked great on her. Ryder asked her to save a dance for him. Mason said he wanted to introduce her to his parents. Hunter looked at her and gave a little nod, letting her know he'd received her message, but he said nothing. Twice Mercedes turned around to see if Sam was there, but he wasn't. Burt patted her hand.

"Sam is staying away until everyone is in their seats. He's taken care of, so you can quit worrying."

Mercedes fiddled with the ring, pulling at it, but it still didn't budge. Beside her, Mike was twisting around to look at the guests.

"May I?" Burt asked and lifted Mercedes's left hand. He examined her finger, massaging it a bit. He pulled on the ring once, but it didn't move.

"If I believed in such things, I'd say it was witchcraft."

"I agree," Mercedes said. "But I don't understand why. Am I supposed to marry Mike?" She glanced at him. He was turned half around as he watched Dwight and Mary walk down the aisle to their seats. Burt bent toward her.

"The family gossip is that you've been in love with this young man since you were a child."

"And I'll bet that gossip came from Stevie. I'd like to—" She gritted her teeth, unable to finish.

"Would you like me to give you some boxing lessons?" Burt was teasing.

"Oh, yes," Mercedes said. "I'd like to be strong enough to—Oh, well. What about you? Done any searching?"

He reached inside his suit jacket and withdrew the card they'd found behind the dresser, the one that read FIND THEM in the same old-fashioned writing she'd seen on the envelope.

"The only question remains who I am to find," Burt said. When the music began to play, Burt put the card back in his pocket and Mercedes sat up straight. Mike turned toward the front.

"Who's the old guy next to you?" he whispered to Mercedes.

"He's the man Mason Fleming modeled James Bond on and he can kill with a single blow, so behave yourself."

Mike looked shocked at her words. "Who are you?" He was looking at her as though he'd never seen her before.

"I think the genuine me is coming out," Mercedes said, then turned her attention to the front of the church where a woman had started singing. There was a bit of a lapse when the solo was finished, before the choir began. A man, tall, with dark hair and brown eyes, stopped by the pew.

"Are you Mercedes?" he asked softly. "I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm—"

"Michael," she said. "You look like my dad. Please sit with us." She motioned for Mike to move aside, but he protested.

"Michael is my cousin," Mercedes said, and reluctantly, Mike moved so Michael could sit by Mercedes. She couldn't help staring at him.

"And you look like my dad's sister," he said. He saw the ring on her finger.

"You're engaged."

"Wow. More family. But, no, I'm not engaged," Mercedes said.

"Yes, she is," Mike said from the other side of him. Michael looked over her head to Burt.

"Our Mercedes is a very popular young lady," Burt said. The music began again and there was no more talk. Minutes later, the groom and Sebastian came from the side to stand at the front. As Sebastian looked around the audience, he smiled at Mercedes. Mike leaned across Michael. "You know the famous architect too? Who's next? The president?"

"Shhhh," Mercedes said and leaned back against the pew. Michael was looking at her questioningly, but Mercedes just shrugged. Burt's eyes were sparkling in amusement. When the music for the bride began, everyone stood up. Holly's dress was extremely simple: high necked, long sleeves. But the fabric was embellished with long rows of tiny silvery sequins. As she passed by, people gasped when they saw the back of the gown. It was covered with a transparent mesh and showed off Holly's beautiful, toned back to well below her waist.

"Now, that's a gown!" Mercedes said.

Burt smiled. "Our Holly has always had a bit of fire in her."

"When I—" Mercedes cut herself off. She had an idea that if she even mentioned marriage, Mike would comment on it. What in the world was wrong with her?! Everything she'd ever dreamed of was happening, but all she felt was a sense of gloom. She couldn't help it, but she yet again looked toward the back of the church. Sitting in the last pew, near the aisle, with Hunter beside him, was Sam. He was staring at her and frowning, but Mercedes smiled at him, glad that he was safe. Suddenly, her feeling that something was missing disappeared. She turned back to the front and looked up at Michael. When he smiled at her, it felt good. He was her family. All around were Sam's relatives, but this man, Michael Jones, was related to her. He seemed to understand what she was thinking. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a card. It was an old photograph, probably early 1900s, of a pretty woman wearing a costume with a tall lace collar. It looked like something Elizabeth I would have worn. Beneath it was printed DOROTHY WELLS

"Your great-grandmother," Michael whispered. If the pastor had not started speaking, Mercedes would have bombarded him with questions. As it was, her hands held on to the card tightly. She'd never known anything about her father's family and there had been grandparents only on her mother's side. To suddenly see how she belonged in the world was touching something deep inside her.

"She's almost as pretty as you are," Burt whispered, making Mercedes smile. She gave her attention to the beautiful ceremony.

* * *

"How are you doing?" Hunter asked as he sat down beside Sam, whose chair was up against the tent wall. After the ceremony, the guests had been transported to a piece of land owned by the Fabrays, where Holly's new husband's daughter had designed a beautiful chapel. Holly had wanted to be married there, but it wouldn't hold even half of her big family. She'd settled on being married in the church, with the reception near the chapel.

"Great," Sam said, his leg stuck out before him, his crutches in his hand as though he were ready to leave at a moment's notice. "The woman I love is wearing another man's ring and dancing with every man here."

"Interesting description of her," Hunter said. "Have you told her how you feel?"

"Mercedes's so nice she'd probably marry me out of sympathy."

"I don't think you're right," Hunter said. "Mercedes has a mind of her own and she doesn't do things she doesn't want to. She won't dance with me."

Sam snorted. "She tends to like those skinny ones. Every Smythe here has whirled her around."

"And so have the Evanses," Hunter said. "It's just me she refuses. I thought she and I were becoming friends, but today she won't even look at me. I wanted to tell her that our secret is out, but she turned away before I could say it."

"What secret?"

"Aunt Holly is expecting. All the women knew, but the men were in the dark."

"I knew," Sam said.

"Yeah, well, you don't count."

"Stevie said you two had a secret between you, but you wouldn't tell him what it was."

"You know Stevie. If he'd known, he would have gone to Aunt Holly and asked her if she was taking her prenatal vitamins. Holly wanted to tell Brian first. Anyway, did you meet Mercedes's cousin?"

"She brought him over. Seems like an okay guy, and he's making Mercedes happy, so that's good."

"But what about the other one? The childhood sweetheart?"

Sam turned a face of fury to his cousin. "He's not that! He's just . . ."

"Just what?" Hunter asked. "That ring Mercedes has on looks pretty real to me. Did you know she and this guy were so serious?"

"No!" Sam said so loudly that several people turned to look at him in concern.

"I have to get out of here before everyone starts whispering in fear of upsetting the damaged soldier." He stood up with his crutches.

"I'll drive you," Hunter said.

"I can drive! I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"You're not getting behind a wheel when you're as angry as you are." When Sam looked like he was going to balk, Hunter said, "I'd hate to have to knock you out and carry you over my shoulder."

"Try it." Sam spoke with such challenge that Hunter laughed. Three kids ran past them, one of them nearly knocking Sam's crutches out from under him. Hunter grabbed a bag from one of them, who kept on running.

"Have some candy," Hunter said and held out the bag. "Maybe it'll sweeten your temper."

Sam knew when he was being ridiculous. He reached into the bag, withdrew a handful of lavender M&Ms with tiny pictures of the bride and groom on them, and popped them into his mouth.

"Okay, you drive."

"Good choice," Hunter said and minutes later they were at Mercedes's house. The quiet was wonderful to Sam and he sat down at the Burtchen table, while Hunter rummaged in the fridge for sandwich makings. Hunter put jars and bags on the table and got Sam a knife and some plates so he could sit and make the sandwiches.

"Maybe I've been around Aunt Mary too much, but this thing with Mercedes is a bit of a mystery," Hunter said. "What made her go from liking me one day to refusing to look at me the next?"

"I don't know. I leave solving mysteries to Mom and Stevie," Sam said.

"By the way, where is your brother?"

"He was called back to work to handle one of his cases. He flew out early this morning."

Hunter dished coleslaw onto plates. "So I'm on my own in trying to figure this out. Maybe Mercedes's had enough of our family and wants to get away from them. Remember Ryder's last girlfriend? She said being around our family was like living in the middle of a sports team. She wanted nothing to do with us. Maybe Mercedes's starting the breakaway with me."

Sam put pickles on top of slices of turkey. "Stevie thinks Mercedes likes our family more than she does me. He thinks Mercedes is so desperate to have a family that she'll take any of us so she can have all of us."

"What else does Stevie think?" Hunter asked, an eyebrow raised.

"He worries that I like her but that she doesn't like me—except as her patient."

"I think your brother is full of crap," Hunter said as he sliced a tomato. "When Stevie said all of this about Mercedes, did he say anything about me?"

"Yeah. He said you two were flirting so hard during Graydon's wedding that he wanted to throw a bucket of water on you, and also that you two had some secret. I guess that was about Aunt Holly."

"And now I know why Mercedes wouldn't dance with me."

Sam looked at Hunter. "But that would mean she knew what Stevie said. You don't think the Tea Ladies told her, do you?"

"Ghosts told her?" Hunter said. "You've been here too long! I think Mercedes overheard your idiot brother spouting off. Where were you when this happened?"

Sam's eyes widened.

"The clothes!" he whispered, then grabbed his crutches and went through the pantry. The new clothes that Mercedes had chosen for him—his mother had told him the whole story—were still on the couch. Hunter was holding something out to Sam.

"I found this on the floor by the door to the Burtchen." It was Mercedes's set of keys to the house and the car Sebastian had lent her. The key ring had a charm on it with 1776 and the word BOSTON. Sam dropped down on the couch.

"She did hear. She must have heard every word Stevie said."

Hunter picked up a stack of sweaters, moved them to the end of the couch, and sat down next to Sam.

"This is bad. Someone has to tell Mercedes the truth. Personally, I think Stevie should apologize to her. As for me, I'm going to tell her — Where are you going?"

When Sam didn't answer, Hunter followed him into the Burtchen.

"I think I'm missing something. You've been so angry today that you've looked like a gargoyle, but now you're grinning. Why?"

"I thought Mercedes was staying away from me because . . ." He took a breath, then looked at his cousin, who could see relief in his eyes. "Because she wanted to let me know that she didn't want a man as badly damaged as I am. That she didn't want to deal with a man who sometimes can't figure out where he is. But that's not the problem."

"What is?" Hunter asked.

"She's just mad at me. Old-fashioned girl anger. She heard my brother say some bad things about her and she's in a snit. Furious at me." He shook his head in wonder. "This is normal. I can handle normal."

"Yeah?" Hunter asked. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"If you remember, I used to be a player. I'm going to show her how I feel about her."

Hunter picked up his sandwich and bit into it. "I sure hope that big ring she's wearing doesn't make more scars on you."

Sam took a drink of Coke from a can. "Good point. Maybe first I should clear up some things with Mike the Greedy. This morning Dad was so mad at the guy that if it hadn't been for Mercedes, he would have tossed him off a pier."

Sam went to the door. "I feel the overwhelming need to eat some wedding cake. How about if we go back and tell Aunt Holly how much we wish her all the happiness in the world?"

Hunter stood up, sandwich in one hand, drink can in the other.

"Only if you drive."

"I can't do—" Sam broke off. "Sure. Why not?"

Smiling, Hunter followed his cousin out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

Mercedes was standing near the doorway and watching the dancers. Mike was doing some old-fashioned disco moves with both Madison and Jean and seemed to be in heaven. Every now and then he'd look around for Mercedes and give her a thumbs-up. She was glad he was having a good time. She'd talked on the phone to his mother twice since she'd been on Nantucket and knew that she was worried about her son.

"I'd like to do something horrible to all those girls!" his mother said. "How could they be so cruel to my son? Of course it doesn't help that he chooses such dreadful women. Oh, Mercedes, why can't Mike see what's been right in front of him all these years?"

Mercedes knew that meant her. Why didn't Mike have sense enough to see that just across the road was a young woman who'd never give him any problems? If Mercedes got married, she'd never be unfaithful. She'd have two or three children and be a devoted mother. When they were older she'd go back to her highly respectable job and . . . and, well, be perfect. Perfectly boring, she thought as she waved to Mike. She'd never before seen him in low spirits. In high school he'd been the president of the senior class, and he'd been popular in law school too. No one who knew him was surprised that he was up for partnership in his prestigious law firm when he was so young. As Mike said, only women gave him problems—and Mercedes's stepsister seemed to have been the last straw. She had been the one who'd made Mike so desperate he decided to go with a sure thing—meaning the girl he'd known since she was born. Mercedes couldn't help but feel responsible for this last blow to Mike. She was the one who got him involved with Aphasia. Damn! But why couldn't Aphasia have behaved for even one day?

When a familiar arm slid around the front of her waist, for a moment she forgot everything and leaned her head back against Sam. He kissed the side of her neck. In the next second, she jumped away and turned toward him, angry.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Saying hello," he said with an innocent grin. "Did you get any cake?"

"No. Your relatives have kept me on my feet all day." She was frowning.

"And those look like such comfortable shoes."

She wanted to stay angry at him but couldn't. "Even my toenails ache."

Sam held up a set of car keys. "How about if I drive us home and I give you a foot massage?"

"Ecstasy," she said. "Better than sex."

"That's because you haven't been to bed with me yet."

The look in his eyes took Mercedes's breath away for a moment. "There's no 'yet' and I can't leave with you. I'm here with Mike."

Sam glanced at the dance floor. "He doesn't look like he's suffering." He caught Mason's arm as he walked by. "Keep the boyfriend busy, will you? I'm taking Mercedes home. Give him lots of cousins and mention the word 'heiress' often."

"Will do," Mason said, then bent and kissed Mercedes's cheek. "See you tomorrow."

Sam stepped back to let Mercedes go ahead of him. Turning, she tried to get Mike's attention. She should tell him she was going to leave. No, she should stay there with him. Sam telling Mason to say "heiress" was a low blow—but unfortunately true. Just minutes ago Mike had said the word in connection with Jean. When Mike saw her, she made a motion toward the door and he blew her a kiss. He seemed to be okay with her leaving. She waved to Michael and he smiled back. Sam held the door to the big tent open for her.

"Mike's not exactly worried about you running off with another man, is he?"

"I don't think he sees you as competition."

"Then he's a fool," Sam said.

* * *

Outside, she followed him through the many parked cars to a big black Range Rover. He opened the door for her, then stood back. It was a very high step up to get into the vehicle, and Mercedes's skirt was quite short and her heels very tall.

"I don't think I can do this," she said. "Mind giving me a hand?"

"No," Sam said. "I just want to watch."

"What's gotten into you tonight?"

"Can't a man be a man?"

She didn't understand what he meant and turned back to trying to figure out how to get into the big car without her skirt riding up to her waist. Finally, Sam took pity on her. He leaned his crutches against the car, put his hands on her waist, and lifted her up to the car seat. "Better?"

"Yes," she said and turned around while he got in the driver's side. On the console was a white bakery box. "What's this?"

"Wedding cake. I thought we'd go home, open some champagne, and have some. Sound good?"

When she didn't answer, Sam turned toward her. It was late afternoon and the sunlight through the trees was nice. As always on Nantucket, the weather was divine. He knew that the air hadn't been cleared between them.

"Did you overhear my brother?" he asked, his light tone gone. Mercedes's first instinct was to say no. It wasn't polite to eavesdrop. But she didn't lie.

"Yes."

"And that's what you've been angry about?"

She gave a shrug. Sam reached over to take her hand.

"First of all, my brother said all that, not me. Second, it's his job to never believe anyone, and third, he's very protective of me. He's worried that I'm going to die at any second. He'd like to lock me away from everyone just to keep me safe."

"Everything he said is true," Mercedes said softly.

"About Hunter?"

"No! I like him but not like that," Mercedes said, then realized Sam was teasing her.

"I'm glad because Hunter has been crying a lot." Sam started the car and began backing out.

"Has he? Did you let him cry on your shoulder?"

"Are you crazy? If he rolled on top of me, I'd be crushed. I'd be back in the hospital with my whole body in a cast."

Mercedes was trying not to laugh. "I guess I'll just have to let him cry on me."

"So he'd crush both of us at once?" Sam sounded confused. Mercedes's laugh came out.

"Oh! I've missed you." She stopped herself. "I mean—"

"It's okay," he said. "I've missed you too. I think some of the happiest times of my life were when you and I were alone in our little house. That's the kind of thing soldiers fight for."

Mercedes looked out the window at the pretty buildings they were passing. Nantucket was so beautiful that it was like something created by heavenly creatures. Maybe it was the atmosphere, but she calmed down.

"Mike says I've changed and I think I have."

He was maneuvering the big vehicle down the narrow Fabray Lane.

"Changed how?"

She waited for him to park, then get out and come around to her side. Reaching up, he put his hands on her waist and lifted her down. For a moment they looked at each other, faces close together, and it seemed natural that they kiss. Sam bent his head toward hers, but Mercedes turned away to get the box of cake out of the car. He didn't seem to mind as he followed her to the front door.

"Locked," Mercedes said. "Just like last time." She told him of when she'd come home from shopping and her keys were missing and the door was locked.

"I think I was meant to go into the tea room. I think . . ." She looked at him. "I think they wanted me to hear what your brother said."

"And that led to you having that ring on your finger? Are you still trying to get it off or are you going to leave it on there?"

When she looked at him, she saw the seriousness in his eyes.

"Right now Mike needs to have some security in his life. He doesn't need to have his backup girl, the one who's always been there, tell him she doesn't want him either."

For a moment she saw anger flash across Sam's eyes, but it was gone quickly.

"That makes sense. Can I walk you down the aisle at your wedding?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "If you're trying to be funny, you're not succeeding." Turning, she headed for the tea room doors.

"I never joke about the wedding of the woman I love."

At his words, Mercedes slowed her steps, but she didn't stop. Just as before, one of the double doors into the tea room was half open. On the coffee table was one of Terry's luscious teas.

"Look," she said to Sam and opened the door all the way.

"I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm starving. Hunter cleaned out the fridge and the Smythes, picky eaters that they are, ate everything at the wedding."

Mercedes was glad he was back to joking and wasn't saying more about being "in love" with her. Right now that was more than she could handle. The couch still had clothes piled on it. Sam tossed a stack of sweaters onto a chair, sat down on the couch, and patted the seat beside him.

"So what's your cousin like?"

Mercedes gave a sigh of relief that he wasn't going to be serious and sat down beside him. This was like he had been, before everything became complicated with the arrival of relatives and a man who was kind of, maybe, her boyfriend.

"Michael is great," Mercedes said. "We escaped everyone for nearly an hour and walked all around the property. He told me about his job and how he's sick of living in hotels. He wants to settle somewhere and— Oh! I forgot. He said he stopped by here and left his suitcase and a box full of info for me." Mercedes started into the house through the pantry, but she found the box on one of the shelves. She picked it up and carried it back to the tea room and put it on the floor by the coffee table.

"Try this," Sam said and held up a little sandwich for her to bite into. He ate the other half.

"That's delicious. What is it?"

"Some kind of sea creature. I'm better with beef. So what's in the box?"

As they ate, Mercedes went through the contents. There were letters, an old scrapbook of newspaper articles about a man who was touted as one of the greatest actors of all time, and several theater tickets. In the bottom was a little bouquet of dried flowers wrapped in a silk handkerchief. Mercedes read aloud while Sam fed her.

"Mmmm, look at this," she said, her mouth full of wedding cake.

"Miss Dorothy Wells married Mr. Derek Jones on the twenty-second of July in 1912. They're my family."

Sam leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. "You had icing right there and I couldn't find a napkin."

"There's one on your leg."

"So there is. What did Michael say about your ancestors?"

"Uh . . ." Mercedes was having trouble recovering from his kiss. "Oh, yes. Derek was the youngest child and when he was nineteen he fell madly in love with a pretty young actress. His father, who was a very wealthy businessman, gave his son a choice of the family or pretty little Dorothy."

"And he very wisely chose the girl," Sam said. "And that choice eventually gave birth to you. Did I tell you how much I like that dress on you?"

"No, you didn't. But everyone else did"

Sam picked up the papers that were on the couch between them and put them on the floor so he could move closer to her.

"What are you doing?"

Sam ran his hand down her bare arm. "So what's your cousin planning to do?"

"I don't know. He's as unattached to family as I am. That's why he dropped everything to come here to meet me. He may . . ." She trailed off because Sam had put his hand on her waist and was kissing her neck.

"I've missed you every second we were apart," he whispered. "I wanted them all to leave so we could be together."

She leaned her head back to give him greater access to her throat. He whispered as he kissed her.

"I missed all our talks, our sharing time and food. I missed knowing you were in a bed close to mine. I remembered when I woke up with you in my arms."

He was kissing her chin, her cheeks. His hands clasped her face and he kissed her closed eyelids.

"I don't think we should do this," Mercedes said, but her voice lacked conviction. Holding her face, he waited for her to open her eyes and look at him.

"Are you going to marry a man who thinks of you as a consolation prize?"

"No," Mercedes said and with that answer, she felt a great relief come over her. She didn't want to disappoint Mike or his mother, but she really couldn't go through with it.

"No, I'm not."

Sam started to put his lips on hers, but a clatter made him draw back. He looked on the floor and there, sparkling up at him, was the big engagement ring. It had fallen off Mercedes's finger. He picked it up and held it between his thumb and forefinger. He started to say something, but Mercedes took it out of his hand and put it on the table.

"Okay, that's it," she said. "I've heard enough about your lovemaking. I'd like proof of life." Smiling, Sam took her hand in his, grabbed a crutch, and made it to the stairs. He let Mercedes go up first.

* * *

Once they were in the bedroom, she felt a little nervous. What now? she wondered. More up-against-a-wall? Or get into the bed? But Sam took over. He sat down on the edge of the bed, his knees apart, and pulled her to him. He turned her so her back was to him and slowly unzipped her beautiful dress. He kissed her skin as each bit was exposed, his hands sliding around her bare waist, then down over her hips. Gently, he pushed the dress forward, over her shoulders, then down until it puddled at her feet. Turning her around, he pressed his face on her soft stomach, kissing it, then put his arms around her, holding her close to him. Mercedes bent down, her face in his hair. She'd touched him in massages, but this wasn't the same.

"I've missed you too," she whispered. He looked up at her, smiling, and when she bent to kiss him, he abruptly pulled her off her feet to land on the bed in a flurry of covers.

"Now I have you on your back," he said in a way that made him sound like a cartoon villain. Mercedes laughed and started to unbutton his shirt. He brushed her hand away.

"Nope. It's your turn to be naked in front of me."

"What a terrible idea," she said, blinking rapidly at him. Sam began kissing her neck, his hands roaming over her body. She still had on her pretty white underwear, but he didn't remove it, just ran his hands over all of her, feeling, caressing.

"I've thought you were beautiful since the first day I saw you," he said as his kisses moved downward. He certainly did seem to know what to touch and how to do it, she thought as his hands and lips moved over her body. She wasn't sure when the last of her clothing came off, but she was nude before him and he touched her body. His hands caressed her inner thighs so that she opened her legs for him. His lips on her breast made her arch her back. When she was ready for him, she found that he had protection with him and he put it on. When he entered her, she clung to him, loving the weight of his big body. He still had on his shirt and she could feel the buttons on her skin. The size of him, the weight, the pure masculine smell of him, nearly drove her to a frenzy. She came before he did and he held her to him, caressing her back. Just holding her tightly to him, letting her feel the release in her body. Gradually, he began his long, slow strokes inside her, waking her in a way she'd never felt before. It was as though something deep within her was coming alive. She gave herself over to it, let herself feel only this man and this moment.

"Sam," she whispered.

"I'm here," he said, his lips against her ear. "I'm always here."

His shirt came off and she felt his hot skin near hers, felt the ridges of the scars. Her hands on his back went over the bumps and dents—and they made her smile. This was Sam. This unique, fascinating man was Sam. When he came, he fell against her, holding her to him. As he lay in her arms, his body limp, relaxed, she had a feeling of power. He needed her. For all his strength and size, all his masculinity, with her he could release all that. With him, it was a matter of trust and possibly love. They slept for a while, wrapped up together, so close they were like one being. In the early morning, Sam became restless. A nightmare. As always, Mercedes soothed him with kisses. He settled, but a moment later he woke up.

"Did I do it again?"

"Yes," she said, smoothing his hair back from his face. "I may never recover," he said softly. His naked body was close to hers, his leg over hers, and she could feel the tension that was beginning to build in him. His tone was light, but she could feel that what he was saying meant a lot to him.

"I know."

"No, you don't," he said. "I may always be plagued with nightmares. I can't imagine that I'll ever be tolerant of loud noises. If I hadn't wanted you so much, I would never have gone to a family wedding. All those doorways and people and noises and—"

She kissed him. "I know. It's all part of you."

"The scars inside me will always be there. Years may dull them, but they'll never go away. I can't live like other people; I have to make concessions." Mercedes wasn't sure, but she thought maybe he was talking about the two of them being together past when his leg healed. She didn't have a reply to that but just kissed him some more.

"I like your answer," he said. "Your turn to be on top."

Smiling, he rolled onto his back while holding her up, and set her down on him. He was ready for her. Mercedes woke to the sound of water running. The door to her bathroom was open and she saw Sam in front of the mirror. He had just a towel around his waist and he was shaving. He saw her in the mirror.

"You finally woke up."

She stretched luxuriously, not bothering to keep the sheet over her naked breasts. Sam paused in shaving to watch her. He finished, dried his face, then went to sit on the side of the bed.

"You in just a towel," she murmured as she ran her hand over his arm.

"That's what got me in trouble the first time."

He kissed her, but when it became deeper, he pulled back.

"I don't know how you want to handle this, but Mason just sent a text. Your boyfriend will be here in a few minutes."

She was kissing his neck. "Who is that?"

"Glad you don't remember," Sam said as he stretched out beside her. Suddenly, Mercedes sat up.

"I forgot about Mike!"

"Understandable." Sam reached out to pull her down beside him, but she rolled to the far side of the bed and got out. Sam's shirt was on the floor and she picked it up, put her arm in one sleeve, and turned the other one to the right side as she ran to the bathroom.

"I forgot all about him," she said through the door. "Where did he sleep? Oh, no! You don't think he jumped in bed with one of your cousins, do you? His mom will kill me. I'm supposed to take care of him but I didn't. This is terrible."

Sam was stretched out on the bed, a stack of pillows under his head. "No to all of it. Boyfriend is safe and virginal."

Mercedes looked around the door at him.

"You can laugh about this, but Mike is my responsibility. I'm going to have to tell him that even his backup girl won't marry him. And how do you know he's safe?"

"From about a dozen text messages. Mason wrote that he took both Michael and the boyfriend—"

"Please stop calling him that."

"Ex-boyfriend to Rashad's house. With Stevie gone, they had an empty bedroom."

"Your brother left?" Mercedes said. "Too bad. I would have liked to say goodbye to him. Maybe Uncle Burt can teach me some special goodbye boxing moves just for your brother."

Sam chuckled. "Just so you know, Stevie would never hit a girl back."

"Good to hear." She left the bathroom wearing her robe. "You made me forget everything last night."

"Did I?" Sam opened his arms to her. She went to him, snuggling beside him, and they began kissing. Her robe opened and his hands began to explore.

"Mercedes? Are you here?" she heard Mike call from downstairs.

She pushed away from Sam. "I have to go." When he didn't release her, she pushed harder. "I have to see to Mike."

"Tell him you're busy."

She gave such a big push that she would have landed on the floor if Sam hadn't caught her as he got out of bed.

"He can't know about us. Not yet. I have to break it to him gently. He's had too many heartbreaks lately." She put her hand to her forehead. "I just remembered I promised Michael that this morning I'd walk around Nantucket with him. And some of your family is leaving today and I have to say goodbye. You should too."

"I had all the family I can bear yesterday. How long before you can get rid of cousin and boyfriend?"

"Michael leaves this afternoon, but Mike . . . I don't know. He's a mess right now and he's my friend." She went to the stairs to call down to him that she'd be there in a few minutes. "I have to get dressed," she said to Sam as she hurried past him.

"Do me a favor and go mess up your bed so Mike thinks that's where you slept."

"I don't like lying," he said. She put her hands on his back and pushed him toward the door.

"You love lying when it gets you what you want. Now go! And put some clothes on."

"Boyfriend might freak at the scars of a soldier?" He said it as though he were a martyr.

Mercedes stopped and looked at him.

"No, because you are so magnificently beautiful that Mike will feel awful."

"Yeah?" Sam asked, smiling.

"Go!" she said as she went into her closet. For a moment she stood there and breathed deeply. She wanted time to think about all that had happened, to go over everything in her mind: Sam, Mike, finding a family, Sam, Stevie, and oh, yeah, Sam.

"Don't let this get messed up," she said aloud and didn't know if she was praying or talking to the resident ghosts who always seemed to be near. "Let me keep this. Please." She didn't have time for more thought. People were waiting for her. She grabbed clothes and pulled them on.

* * *

Sam was in the gym and working to concentrate. He was so angry that he had to remind himself not to sling the weights around. Years of training from his dad and uncle were strongly in his mind.

"Form is everything," his uncle Jacob always said. "A wrong move and muscles can detach."

What was making it so difficult now was that in a few minutes he was to meet Mercedes's "boyfriend" for a "chat." That's what he'd said at breakfast. Mercedes had been in a hurry to meet her newly found cousin and to say goodbye to some of the older members of Sam's family. Mike, sitting quietly at the table, had begged off. He said he had too bad a hangover to go anywhere. He just wanted to stay at the house. Sam was at the sink when Mike came up behind him—something that was guaranteed to set Sam off—and said he wanted to have a private "chat" with him.

"About ten? And please don't say anything to Mercedes. This is just between us men."

All Sam had been able to do was nod silently in reply. Throughout breakfast, through cousins arriving to pick Mercedes up, Sam had thought about the coming meeting. Was this guy going to ask for help in getting Mercedes? Would he play on Sam's sympathy so he felt as sorry for him as Mercedes did? When the house was empty, Sam went to the gym to try to work off some of the nervous energy that was building in him. But he kept looking at the clock, dreading what was coming, but also wanting to get it over with. Whatever the guy wanted, Sam knew he'd do what was best for Mercedes. At five minutes to ten, Mike showed up at the door. He had on clean, crisp clothes, while Sam's loose workout gear was soaked in sweat.

"Go ahead and finish," Mike said. "I'll wait."

Sam put down two sixty-pound dumbbells. "No. We'll do it now." He sounded like he was facing a firing squad. He nodded toward the arbor and the two chairs there, and Mike followed him. Once they were outside, Mike sat down, and Sam wished he'd taken the time to shower and change. On impulse, he pulled his sweaty shirt off over his head and sat down, naked from the waist up. It wouldn't hurt to intimidate the enemy. When Mike saw Sam's bare upper half with all its scars, his eyes widened.

"Oh, man! You look like a survivor of the gladiator ring. I read about your injuries, but that's not the same as seeing them." He was studying Sam's chest and shoulders, stomach and arms. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for what you soldiers do for our country. But then none of us can thank you enough. Mind if I shake your hand?"

This wasn't what he'd been expecting, Sam thought as he held out his hand and shook Mike's. His buildup of anger was being replaced with confusion.

"What do you mean you read about me?"

Mike settled back in the chair. A bit of sunshine hit his face and he closed his eyes to enjoy it.

"I couldn't let Mercedes stay here with some guy I knew nothing about, now could I? Sergeant Sheldon Beiste says hello and that if you ever need anything, he's ready." "You want to tell me what's going on?" There was a bit of a threat in Sam's voice.

Mike smiled. "You have a little sister. When she starts dating, will your family do some checking on her boyfriend?"

"Mercedes is not your sister."

"Might as well be," Mike said, unperturbed by Sam's temper. He looked across the garden and smiled in memory. "I was six when her parents brought their new baby home from the hospital. When Mom and I walked over to see her, Mercedes reached up, grabbed my finger, and smiled at me. Everyone made a big deal of it, saying she was much too young to smile, but it never changed. For all her life, whenever she saw me, she smiled." Sam couldn't control his sneer. "So now you want to marry her?"

"About as much as you want to marry your little sister." Mike took a breath. "I picked that ring up at the airport. Ugly thing, isn't it? I knew Mercedes would hate it. By the way, years ago she told Mom she'd like to have an oval diamond."

"If you don't want to marry her, then why did you ask her?"

"To release her," Mike said. "You see, when Mom called me in hysterics and said that if I didn't get here fast I was going to lose Mercedes to her client, I knew it was time to change things."

"Change them how?"

Mike took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Since her dad was always gone, the only real security Mercedes had was Mom and me. And you know how girls are. If they see you as a rescuing hero, they think they're in love with you."

He looked at Sam. "Until you. I knew from Mom's voice that this was different, so I used the resources at my law firm to do some research on you. Dr. Samuel James Evans is spoken of highly. Sergeant Murphy said you saved his leg. He told me how you volunteered to go on some of the most dangerous missions with the men and women. You wanted to be there at the moment they needed your medical expertise."

Sam shrugged. "It's what needed to be done."

"Not quite! You could have gone to work in some plush clinic or had your dad buy you a wing of a hospital. But you chose to go into the army and save our soldiers."

"I'm not a hero, if that's what you're implying. You said you came here to release her."

"I wanted to let Mercedes know that it was okay to love someone else. And to do that, I knew she had to stop seeing me as the epitome of all that was good in mankind. She had to see me as I am, a man with a whole lot of flaws. How much did your young cousins laugh at my dancing?"

"A lot." Sam looked at Mike. "Are you saying that all of this has been an act?"

"Yes," Mike said. "So tell me, how have I done? Have I been obnoxious enough? Hitting your dad up for possible business at a wedding was the low point. He looked so angry and he's so big that sweat was running down the back of my shirt. Then his brother joined him and I was so scared I wanted to run away, but I held my ground."

Sam was listening in astonishment. "What about that first night? Were you really drunk?"

"Give me some credit," Mike said. "I can hold my liquor. Two beers and those kids were sure an old man like me was drunk—but it was one of them who threw up on me. Anyway, I knew that a sober me could never pull off asking Mercedes to marry me. But I couldn't let her go through life thinking I was the one who got away. And also, I wanted to see you two together. One sight of the big drippy way you two looked at each other and I knew where your hearts were. So how was my acting?"

"Excellent," Sam said. "I believed it all."

"I thought about being an actor, but then my dad died and I knew I had to get a real job. Support the family, that sort of thing. Though if my law firm ever finds out I alienated one of the heads of the Smythe-Evans clan, I'll be out on my ear. I'll be begging on the street corner."

"You don't have to worry about that," Sam said. "I'll take care of it." He was looking at Mike. "This was a noble thing you did."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "What's going to be hard is when I tell Mom. She deeply and truly wants me to marry Mercedes, but it wouldn't work. I actually am a workaholic and Mercedes's so self-sacrificing she'd never demand anything of me and—" He shrugged. "I'd make her miserable."

He looked at Sam. "I never meant to tell you or anyone the truth." Mike paused and when he spoke again, there was no laughter in his voice. "I only told you this so you'd trust what I'm about to tell you. Aphasia texted me that she's arriving at around seven this evening. When she gets here, Mercedes is going to freak out. Come apart. My guess is that she'll tell you that she never wants to see you again, that she wants you to get out of her life forever."

"Because of her stepsister? Why?"

Mike was quiet for a moment. "Mercedes will think that if you see Aphasia in person, you'll drop her in favor of her stepsister." When he saw that Sam didn't understand, he continued. "You know those Victoria's Secret shows on TV? If you put some wings on Aphasia, she could walk down the runway beside those girls and fit right in."

"So?" Sam said.

Turning, Mike smiled at him. "Good answer. The problem is that Mercedes won't believe you because Aphasia stole every boyfriend she ever had."

"Bastards!" Sam grumbled.

"Yeah, well, at seventeen you don't have any brains. Aphasia would show up wearing about two ounces of clothing and the boys would go crazy. And by comparison Mercedes was downright plump—or at least that's what Roz used to say. The contrast between the girls was dramatic. But last night Mercedes sure looked good in that dress. What did you do to get her in such great shape?"

"I got her away from people who see her as second best," Sam said.

"Ouch!" Mike said. "I just wish you weren't right. Men love Mercedes, but they lust after Aphasia."

"Not me," Sam said. He was looking at Mike in speculation. There was something about the way he said Mercedes's stepsister's name that set Sam on edge.

"Can I take it that you don't think of Aphasia as your little sister?"

Mike let out his breath. "When she was growing up, I never paid much attention to the kid. But then one day I came home to visit and there was this girl —five eleven, maybe six feet—outside Mercedes's house wearing a bikini. You ever look at a woman and get dizzy with lust?"

"I nearly passed out when I met Mercedes."

"Good. I like that. She deserves it. Anyway, that's what I felt when I saw Aphasia at sixteen." Mike took a moment before speaking, as though trying to decide whether he should reveal the truth or not. "I'll tell you something nobody else knows. All these women since then—the ones who keep dumping me—the truth is that I understand why they do. To me, they're just weak copies of Aphasia, and they sense that."

"So why not go after her?"

Mike shrugged. "What would it have done to Mercedes if I—her knight on a white horse—went after her stepsister like all the other guys did? And then there's my mom. She's had years of hearing all the mean, petty things done to Mercedes by Aphasia. I couldn't do it to either of them."

"A lot of men wouldn't have cared about any of that," Sam said.

"And you were in a Humvee when you could have been safely in a hospital being a doctor. We all have things that make us earn the title of 'man.' "

"Yeah, we do," Sam said. "I've never been able to get Mercedes to talk to me about her stepmother and she's said little about Aphasia—except that she felt like a donor who had to give body parts to her stepsister."

Mike laughed. "That's a good one. I've always loved Mercedes's sense of humor. Did she tell you what happened to the garden?"

"No, but I'd like to hear the story." Sam's voice was earnest.

"Okay, but first you have to understand that Roz had an ambition that ate the earth—and it was all wrapped up in her pretty daughter. About a year after they moved in, Roz decided she wanted a big in-ground swimming pool. But Mercedes's grandparents had a glorious garden in the back. They fed their own household and shared with neighbors. When the grandparents said no to the pool, Roz was very calm, and they thought the matter was settled. But they underestimated her."

"I'm afraid to ask what happened," Sam said.

"The grandparents took Mercedes away for a weekend and when they returned, the garden was gone. Bulldozed flat. Even the cute little playhouse Mercedes's grandfather had built for her had been destroyed."

"What did Mercedes's father say when he saw it?"

Mike shook his head. "Talk about a coward! Mom called him The Runner because he fled from all confrontation. He stayed away for six weeks. Mom said that the Jones household was a war zone. In the end, they all agreed that they could no longer live in one house. The grandparents decided to move to Florida. They just wanted the dad's permission for Mercedes to go with them. But Roz said no, so Mercedes had to stay." Mike was quiet for a moment, then he looked at Sam.

"Can I give you some advice?"

Sam hesitated, but considering what this man was willing to do for Mercedes,yes, he'd accept advice. He nodded.

"Tell her you're a doctor."

"Mercedes knows that."

"I don't think she does. When she called my mother and raved about you, she didn't mention it. If Mercedes'd told her you were a doctor, Mom would have hit me over the head with it. She thinks doctors are above lawyers on the ladder of helping humanity."

"We are," Sam said, "but you guys rescue us from the predators."

Smiling, they looked out at the garden.

* * *

After Mike left, Sam stretched out on the old couch in Mercedes's living room and tried to keep his mind on the latest issue of the Journal of the American Medical Association that his mother had brought for him. She was adamant that he keep up with his training as she hoped that he'd soon go back to his profession. She and his dad had offered to build him a clinic near their house in Tennessee. "Or in Kentucky," they'd said. The idea was that he'd feel more secure if he treated only people who were related to him. Until now—until he'd met Mercedes—he'd turned down their offers without a second thought. But now he was thinking about it. His mother called him as they were leaving Nantucket.

"Mercedes is here and everyone is kissing her goodbye," Mary said from the airport. "Everyone likes her so very much."

"You can stop hinting," Sam said. "I like her too."

"How much?" Mary asked quickly. Sam started to make a quick retort about that being his own business, but instead, he smiled. He knew everyone had seen how much better he was doing since he'd met Mercedes and they wanted the best for him.

"I like her the ultimate amount. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes," Mary whispered. Sam knew his mother was fighting tears and he gave her time to calm herself. "So when are you going to let her know this?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Leave something to me, will you?"

"I know, sweetheart," Mary said, "but I'm a mother so I worry. I'm afraid Mercedes might decide she's in love with that man Mike. She doesn't seem to see what he's really like! Your dad was furious for half of Holly's wedding. I almost couldn't get him to calm down. Mike said—"

"Mom!" Sam said loudly. "It's okay. Mercedes isn't going to run off with Mike. When I get back I'll tell you about him. He's a really good guy and you're going to love his story."

"I doubt that," Mary said. "I think he— Oh, no. Your dad's about to throw me in the back of a truck."

It was a running joke in their family that when their dad wanted his wife to hurry up he said he was going to toss her into a truck, something he'd done long ago.

"I love you," Mary said. "And talk to Mercedes!"

"I will," Sam said, "and I love you both."

He clicked off the phone and tried to go back to his magazine, but he kept listening for Mercedes's return. He was dreading telling her that Aphasia was on her way to Nantucket. If there was anything Sam knew about, it was irrational fear. In theory, he knew that a room with lots of doors in it wasn't something to fear, but that didn't stop him from standing against a wall and watching. Who knew what was going to run through a door at any second? Logically, Mercedes had no reason to fear her stepsister, but that wouldn't keep her from doing so. Someday maybe Mercedes could feel secure enough to stand up to Aphasia, but for now Sam was going to do what Mike had done for so many years and protect Mercedes. He was going to put himself between the two women and do whatever was necessary to make Mercedes feel safe. When Sam heard a car door slam, he was on his feet in seconds and at the front door before it opened. Mercedes threw it open. She was drenched!

"The sky opened up just as I got out of the car."

Sam dropped his crutches onto the stairs and held out his arms to her.

"I'll get you wet."

He didn't lower his arms and she went to him, the two of them holding each other close. Her head was on his chest and she could hear his heart beating.

"I went to the airport with them to say goodbye. Uncle Burt left with your parents, and Michael caught a flight to Boston."

He kissed the top of her wet hair, then began leading her up the stairs as she kept talking.

"I hardly know Michael, but we had so many things in common. He's an only child like I am. I'm going to meet the family at Christmas, but Michael and I made plans to spend Thanksgiving together."

Sam led her to the bathroom door, got a towel, and began drying her hair.

"Uncle Burt said he'll join us. I think the huge celebrations of your big family are too much for him. He said he's going to make the pies. And Michael is going to make the dressing."

Sam unbuttoned her wet shirt and pulled it off her.

"That leaves me with the turkey and vegetables and bread to do." She looked at Sam. "Unless you want to help."

"I get dibs on yams and green beans," he said as he unfastened her trousers and helped her step out of them.

"So I get the turkey." Mercedes's teeth were beginning to chatter. "What's your favorite bread?"

"Brioche," he said as he led her to the bed and pulled back the covers.

"Mine too." She started to get into the warmth of the bed, but Sam stopped her as he removed her two pieces of underwear. Naked, she looked at him and he pulled her into his big, warm arms.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered.

"Yes. Every minute. I think I talked about you a bit too much."

Sam stepped away from her long enough to remove his own clothing, then slid into bed.

"What makes you think that?"

"Mason said he hadn't noticed that you'd grown seven feet tall and made Superman look like a wimp."

Smiling, Sam opened his arms to her and as their bodies clung to each other, they began kissing. It was Mercedes who pulled away and pushed him onto his back. Her lips began to trace the scars on his body, kissing them, caressing them. Today his mother had told her how Sam's former girlfriend Penny had been sickened at the sight of Sam's damaged body. She was repulsed by the scars and grafts, the indentations where parts of skin and muscle had been sliced away by flying pieces of metal. But Mercedes thought Sam was beautiful. Her lips moved over him, across his chest, his arms, then lower and lower until she reached the center of him. Undamaged and perfect, she thought, but then she was beginning to see all of him that way. When she took him in her mouth, he gasped, his head back, his eyes closed. Minutes later she moved back up to his neck, to his mouth. He moved her onto her back and began to make love to her, taking his time with her body as he slowly took her to new peaks of pleasure. When he entered her, she was more than ready for his long, slow, deep thrusts. When he collapsed against her, Mercedes held him, his head against her breasts, and stroked his hair as she thought about the day. Her morning had been great and she'd loved laughing with Sam's cousins. At the airport she'd been teary as she said goodbye to people who'd become her friends. Sam's mother had hugged her hard and his father's hug had lifted her off the ground.

"Thank you,"he said, then he'd abruptly set her down and run up the stairs to the plane. Uncle Burt had kissed her hand.

"We shall meet again soon," he said. It had been hardest saying goodbye to Michael. "Thanksgiving!" he'd called to her as he got on the stood there with Sam's cousins and watched the jet take off, then they turned to Mercedes. She knew what they were asking. What did she want to do now?

"Home," she said simply. She wanted to see Sam. They drove her back to Fabray Lane and she was so anxious to see Sam that she opened the car door while the vehicle was still rolling. Then, just as she got to the door, a quick summer storm nearly drowned her.

"Warm now?" Sam asked, their bodies wrapped around each other.

"Yes," she said.

He lifted onto one arm to look at her. "Something's bothering you."

"Nothing is."

"You can tell me," he said.

She took a breath. "Please don't be jealous, but I just thought of Mike."

He kissed her sweetly. "I'm not jealous of him anymore. Tell me what you're thinking."

"Of this. Of you and me. I'm going to have to break Mike's heart. It's just that he isn't who I thought he was."

Sam turned onto his back and put her head on his shoulder.

"Tell me," he said.

"I guess I've always seen Mike through a child's eyes," Mercedes said. "But then he's always been so very good to me. Even when he was a teenager and a big shot at our school, he always had time for the little kid that I was. Sometimes the other football boys would laugh at him for giving me a ride home or asking me about my homework or fixing a toy for me. But Mike was always glad to see me."

"And now?"

"Now I'm going to have to tell him that yet another female is turning down his marriage proposal. Oh, Sam! He was so awful at the wedding! It was embarrassing to see him with your dad and your uncle. I was so annoyed by him that when Michael showed up, I had him sit between Mike and me. I tried to be nice, but at the reception, all Mike could talk about was how glad he was that I was bringing the connection of your family to him. He said it was like my dowry."

"He was obnoxious, wasn't he?"

"Yes!" Mercedes said. "That's the perfect word. Why didn't I see this when I was growing up?" She put her hand over her eyes. "The worst thing is going to be trying to explain to his mother. She and I . . . This sounds ridiculous, but we used to talk about how I'd grow up and marry Mike and she'd be my mother for real." Mercedes looked up at Sam. "What am I going to tell her?"

"Tell her that she has raised a son who is a man of honor. That he is willing to sacrifice what he wants in life so he doesn't hurt other people. Tell her that she should be very, very proud of him."

"Wow!" Mercedes said. "What in the world did you two talk about this morning?"

"Just guy stuff." He wasn't going to answer that question and betray Mike's trust. He started kissing her neck as his hand moved downward. But Mercedes moved away from him.

"We have to get up because I need to work on your knee." She got out of bed, picked up his T-shirt off the floor, put it on, and went into the bathroom.

"You seem to like wearing my clothes," he said as he piled up pillows behind his head.

"And you seem to like going without them."

"Beauty such as this shouldn't be covered."

She looked at him in the mirror. When she'd first met him he'd been so embarrassed by his scars that he didn't want anyone to see them. But now he often pulled off his shirt—and every time he did, Mercedes felt like melting. She no longer saw the scars, just the beauty of the man underneath them.

"I agree completely," she said, smiling at him.

"I think my leg is fine for today. You should come back to bed."

"Absolutely not. The only thing your brother likes about me is that I'm good at my job. I don't want to lose that accolade."

"Why did you stand there and listen?" Sam sounded more annoyed than he meant to.

"Ask Miranda and Mercedes. I think they wanted me to hear." Mercedes went back into the bedroom. Sam was stretched out on the bed wearing nothing but the big brace on his leg, a sheet corner across his middle. He was certainly glorious to behold! Honey-colored skin over muscles from the neck down. Abs that rippled. Thighs like tree trunks. He was like a god of old come to life.

"Mercedes," Sam whispered. Somehow, she managed to turn away and step into her closet.

"Damn Stevie!" she heard Sam mutter as she pulled out a clean T-shirt.

"Mercedes?" Sam said and there was a serious tone to his voice. "This morning Mike said something strange to me. He said he didn't think you know that I'm a doctor. I told him that wasn't true because Sebastian gave you my medical file— didn't he?"

That astonishing bit of information made Mercedes feel like someone had knocked the wind out of her. She leaned back against the closet shelves to give herself a moment to recover. When she'd been given his medical report she'd been so upset over Aphasia trying to steal her house that she couldn't keep her mind on what she was seeing. But whatever the cause, no, she didn't know that about him. Part of her felt angry that this had been hidden from her. Or maybe she was angry at herself for not figuring out something so very fundamental about this man. But she wasn't going to go the route of anger. She looked around the doorway at him. She well knew that humor worked best with him.

"You mean you can get a job? Earn a living? That you aren't going to live off a trust fund set up by some relative who probably had two jets?"

Sam groaned. "You sure know how to wound a guy. I'm so hurt I may have to go back to the hospital."

"You can't perform surgery on yourself?"

"Actually, I did sew up this one. It wasn't very deep, so I took care of it." He ran his hand across a scar that ran down the side of his left arm. "It happened a few weeks before the explosion. I was afraid that if anyone saw it, I'd be sent home."

Mercedes moved back into the closet so he wouldn't see her face. Suddenly, her joke didn't seem very funny. She could even envision Sam sewing his own wound. She stepped back into the bedroom. "So. You have any other big secrets?"

Sam knew that this was the moment when he should tell her that Aphasia would be there in about three hours, but he couldn't do it. As much as he didn't like to admit it, Mike seemed to know Mercedes well and he didn't want her to "freak out" as he'd said she would. Smiling, he put his hands behind his head.

"You don't seem to have noticed that Stevie is my identical twin."

Mercedes scoffed. "Stevie is four inches shorter than you are and has a roll around his middle. You should get him to go to a gym sometimes." She sat down on the bed beside him, and as she ran her hand over his chest, her face was serious.

"Do you think you can work in a hospital?"

He knew she was referring to his PTSD. It was better but certainly not cured.

"No," he said honestly. "Not yet, but I might be able to manage part-time in a small clinic. It would have to be in a place with few doors and few patients and —"

Mercedes kissed him. "One day at a time. Eventually, you'll be able to do it all."

"Will you be there with me?"

She started to say yes, that she'd follow him wherever he went, that she couldn't imagine a life without him, but she didn't say that. She wasn't going to put everything inside her on the surface. Not yet anyway. She got up and with laughter in her voice, said,

"If that's an invitation, where's the champagne?"

"It's coming. You like oval diamonds, right?" he stared at him. She'd thought he meant dating past when his leg was healed, that they'd get to know each other in a more ordinary way, that sort of thing. But he seemed to mean something more permanent.

"Yes, I do," she said softly, then turned away. "I, uh . . ." She couldn't think what to say. "I'll meet you in the gym," she said at last and hurried down the stair

* * *

Still hate Mike? lol.

We're almost to the end. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing!


	19. Chapter 19

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

* * *

An hour later, Sam was just stepping out of the outdoor shower beside the gym when he saw her. There was no mistaking who she was. Aphasia was just as Mike had described: very tall, thin, with lots of brown hair that stood out around a very pretty face. What wasn't pretty was the way she was looking at him. He had on only a towel and the brace, an outfit he'd been wearing often lately. But the way this woman was looking at him made him feel, well, naked. Exposed.

He'd seen men look at women in that way, their eyes moving up and down, measuring their physical attributes like they were racehorses. But Sam couldn't remember a woman scrutinizing him in that way. His first instinct was to cover himself, but he didn't. He stood up straighter, his shoulders back, feet together. Her eyes came back up to his and what he first saw there was anger, but then she changed and gave a little smirk, as though he wasn't worthy of her attention.

In an instant, she turned on her high heels and went toward the house, where Mercedes was. Sam's only thought was that he had to get to Mercedes before this woman did. He had to protect the woman he loved. But when he took a step forward, he tripped on a stepping stone and went down hard on his uninjured knee. When he tried to get up, his brace caught on the stone and entangled him. His towel was on the ground a foot away and when he reached for it, a gust of wind caught it and sent it sailing. Cursing, he struggled to get upright without a crutch, then looked down at himself. He couldn't burst into the house with no clothes on. He managed to hobble back to the gym and grab his sweatpants. When they caught on the back of his brace and he couldn't pull them up, his cursing grew angrier and louder. It seemed to take forever to get his pants on and pull a T-shirt over his head. He grabbed his crutches and started for the house. The back door was locked. He banged on it and yelled to Mercedes but no one came to open the door. _Maybe they went upstairs_, he thought and went around to the front door. It was also locked. He had to go nearly full circle before he saw that the tea room doors were unlocked and he went inside. When he heard voices, he quickly went through the pantry to the kitchen door and looked inside.

Aphasia was sitting at the kitchen table and Mercedes was pulling things out of the refrigerator and putting them before her stepsister. The scene made Sam frown, but he understood about families and habits. When he and his brother were together, they seemed to know what each other was going to do before it was done. But Sam hated seeing Mercedes wait on Aphasia. He stepped forward, meaning to go into the kitchen to stop it, but the door closed in his face. When he tried the knob, it was locked. As he'd done outside, he knocked on the door and called for Mercedes to open it from her side, but nothing happened. It took Sam just seconds to get across the room to the other door into the house, but it too was locked. He gritted his teeth in frustration. He had no doubt that the two spirits of the house were doing this.

"Is this what you did the day Mercedes overheard Stevie and me in the kitchen?" Sam asked aloud, but there was no answer. He hopped across the room on his crutches, back through the pantry, and as he knew it would be, the door was open a few inches. It looked like he was supposed to watch and listen, the darkness of the pantry hiding him from their sight. Sam looked at Aphasia sitting at the table. He'd heard so much about her beauty that he was curious. He'd seen the professional photos she'd sent him and he'd thought she looked good but in a cool, remote way that didn't appeal to him. Now as he looked at her, he thought of the old saying that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Maybe Mercedes and Mike saw Aphasia as breathtakingly beautiful, but to Sam she was far from it. She was tall and thin, shapeless really. His professional eye saw that she'd spent too much time in the sun. She wasn't going to age well. Sam thought Mercedes was much prettier. He loved her curves, the shape of her face, the way she smiled at everyone. Mercedes's hair was thick and soft and he knew it always smelled good, even when she was sweaty in the gym. As he looked at the two women, he couldn't see why anyone would think Aphasia was the pretty one. To him, Mercedes beat her stepsister in all aspects of mind, talent, beauty, and personality. Inside the kitchen, Mercedes was doing her best to listen to Aphasia. She'd been preparing a late lunch for herself and Sam when Aphasia had shown up. Like some black magic, she just seemed to appear in the Nantucket kitchen. And once Mercedes saw her, it was as though all the sunshine disappeared. It was like the doors and windows suddenly locked and the pretty little house became a prison. She hadn't seen or heard from Aphasia since the day she'd come home and Sebastian had been sitting in her living room asking Aphasia to sign some papers.

* * *

Mercedes kept putting things on the table. Better that than sitting down and trying to talk with Aphasia. She could argue for hours at a time, but all Mercedes wanted was to get rid of her fast. Please, please, she thought, let Sam stay outside. Don't let him come in here and see Aphasia. Mercedes didn't think she could bear seeing the two of them laughing and talking, flirting. Doing the things all men did with Aphasia.

"I came here to work things out with you," Aphasia was saying. "But then I'm always apologizing to you."

"You have never apologized to me," Mercedes said and was instantly annoyed with herself for taking the bait Aphasia was dangling.

"I'm sure that's the way you see it. For once, could we just talk and not fight?" she said, looking around. "This is a nice house, but it will take a lot of work to get the garden up to what your grandparents had. I guess that's what you plan to do."

"Aphasia, what do you want?"

She gave a great, dramatic sigh. "I can see that nothing has changed; you're still hostile. All right, I will tell you. I honestly didn't think you'd mind if I took on the responsibility for this old house. You're always saying that I never help you with anything, but when I did offer to help, you acted like I'm a criminal. I thought you liked where you lived. You never hid the fact that you've always been madly in love with Mike. It's all I heard while I was growing up. It was embarrassing watching you make a fool of yourself over him."

Mercedes knew that what Aphasia was saying about Mike was true. It was quite possible—probable even—that if she'd received the package from Sebastian first, she would have sold the Nantucket house unseen. Aphasia opened a container of olives and nibbled one.

"I really thought you and Mike would end up together. That's what his mom and you plotted, didn't you?"

Mercedes sat down at the table and looked at her stepsister.

Aphasia continued. "Never in my life would I have believed that you'd ever leave Mike. I thought you'd die in that house, just waiting for him to return and notice you."

"So you're saying that you wouldn't have tried to steal this house if it hadn't been for my caring about Mike?"

"Caring!" Aphasia said. "It was more like an obsession. Face it, Mercedes, you're not exactly the adventurous type. You lived in one house all your life. Even after all that schooling you had, you got a cheap job nearby just so you wouldn't have to leave him. You just sat there and waited for Mike to return and sweep you away to some future you dreamed about."

Mercedes had her head down. Aphasia's words were so true that she was beginning to feel awful. But then this was the way it had been since her father came home and announced that he'd married a woman who had a daughter. Her dad said Aphasia was going to become Mercedes's best friend. But that had never happened. Instead, she'd found herself "talked to" by Roz, lectured about how Mercedes should give Aphasia more and more and more. When Aphasia was older, she'd done her own talking, turning things around so that Mercedes was always in the wrong. Yes, Mercedes had been obsessed with Mike, but now she realized that she'd needed that dream of a happy future in order to survive. Sometimes there are moments in people's lives when they suddenly see things differently. Call it an aha moment, an epiphany, whatever. It's a time when a person breaks. As Mercedes looked at her stepsister, she decided that she'd had enough. She was no longer going to be afraid of her stepsister. If Aphasia turned on whatever she did to attract men and if Sam followed her like all the other males did, so be it. Mercedes had had enough!

"You're right," she said to Aphasia and there was a tone in her voice that she knew she'd never before used with her stepsister. It was the one that made reluctant patients get on the table. There was kindness, but it was backed by an unbreakable firmness.

"You're right that I was afraid of . . . adventure, as you call it. After you and Roz took over my family, I was scared of leaving the only security I'd ever known. In your drive to win no matter what, you and your mother made what had once been a peaceful home into a battlefield. You drove my grandparents away and made my father hate to return."

Aphasia was looking at her in surprise. Mercedes didn't usually fight back. Roz had taken all that out of her. But Aphasia quickly recovered.

"It's this guy who's turning you against your own family, isn't it?" Her words were sly, as though she knew something Mercedes didn't. "I saw him outside. He's so torn up most women wouldn't want him. But he's rich so I don't blame you for going after him." Mercedes didn't lose her temper at the accusation, and most important, she didn't go into defense mode. "If that's what you want to believe, go ahead."

A wave of anger went across Aphasia's perfectly made-up face. Mercedes knew that in the past that look meant her stepsister would take some revenge. A toy, a computer, a new piece of clothing, something would be ruined—and of course Aphasia would deny having done it.

"Look, Mercedes," Aphasia said in a voice that others would hear as caring, "I'm younger than you are, but I've seen more of the world. Do you think this guy with his messed-up body will want you after his leg heals? You think his rich family won't snub you? One thing I've learned is that wealthy people only marry other rich people. Believe me, I've tried to change that, but it doesn't happen."

"And if someone who looks like you can't get a rich man, there's no hope for me, right?"

Aphasia glared at her. "You always twist whatever I say, don't you? You're always so clever! But I know more about men than you do and I'm just warning you, that's all."

Mercedes was calm. "Aphasia, I don't know what's going to happen in my life, but I'm not worried about it. You see, I'm finally beginning to realize that I'm worth something. I'm good at my job and I've met people who genuinely like me, and that's made me feel the best about myself that I have since I was a kid." When Aphasia started to speak, Mercedes put up her hand.

"And as for Sam, I'm in love with him. Deeply and totally in love with him."

"You think that matters to a man as rich as he is?" Aphasia was very angry. "When his leg heals he'll walk away and you'll never see him again."

Mercedes stood up and looked down at her stepsister.

"That's his choice and if he does, I'll survive it. It'll take me a long time to recover, but I will. And the next time I won't be afraid that you're going to show up and take a man away from me. Aphasia, you may be beautiful on the outside, but the inside of you is quite ugly." She took a breath. "Mike is on the island and I'm going to ask one last favor of him. I want him to come get you and take you someplace far away from me. I've had all I'm going to take of your belittling me. And I am never again going to be afraid of what you can do or say to me."

Turning, Mercedes walked out the back door into the garden. She was shaking all over, but she felt very good. Right now, all she wanted was to see Sam. She was almost to the gym when he came up behind her and picked her up. She clung to him.

"I heard it all," he said, holding her tightly. "The ladies locked me in the tea room, but I'm glad because I saw you, heard you. You were wonderful. Stupendous. I am so proud of you." He was kissing her neck. "Deeply and totally in love with me, are you?"

Mercedes laughed. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

He pulled her away to look in her eyes. "I understand things now, and I'm glad you didn't believe all that about me. Let's go out to dinner and drink champagne and celebrate."

"What about your meds?"

"I haven't taken a pill in two days."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but don't tell my doctor that. I'm sure I'll be back on them again."

"And who is your doctor—and so help me, if you tell me it's Hunter, I'll start screaming."

"It's not. It's his—"

"I've had all the surprises I can take in one day," Mercedes said as she kissed him.

"Then let's go eat, drink, and be merry." He took her hand in his.

"Wait!" Mercedes said. "I have to call Mike and tell him to come get Aphasia."

Suddenly, she halted. "I don't have to take care of Aphasia anymore, do I?" She looked at him in wonder. "Since I was eleven years old, I've had to look after her. In my household, she came first in everything. Even when she was in California trying to become a movie star, I had to send her money. Once I had to —" She broke off. "But all that's over. I don't know how to describe it. Nothing has changed but everything has. I'm done."

"Good," Sam said, "but rather than leave her alone in the house, I already called Mike. He'll know how to take care of everything."

"You think so?" Mercedes was surprised. "I want to hear what you two talked about this morning. What made you go from being jealous every time his name was mentioned to singing his praises?"

"We just talked is all. Where is that ring you had?"

"Last time I saw it, it was on the coffee table in the tea room. You want me to get it?"

"No!" Sam said. "I just got out of being locked in that room and I saw Aphasia go in there. Mercedes?" His face turned serious. "I don't mean to be a scaredy-cat, but let's turn this house over to the Fabray branch of the family. I think they're more used to ghosts than my side is."

"Yes, let's," she said. "Now, where are you taking me for dinner?"

"A picnic in bed?" he suggested.

Laughing, Mercedes put her arms around his neck and looked at him. "Is any of this for real? You, your family, all this talk of us and we and the future? Will it last?"

"Yes," he said. "It's very real. I'm not going to run off as soon as my leg heals, and you've seen that my family adores you. Your stepsister certainly has a backward view of the world. She doesn't seem to consider that her mercenary attitude is what gets her tossed aside. Let's go to dinner and talk about our future. Like that idea?"

"Yes," she said, "I do."

"Interesting choice of words," he said and they laughed.

* * *

By the time Mike got to Mercedes's house he was in a seriously bad mood. Sam had called him and told of the encounter Mercedes had with her stepsister.

"I've never heard anything like it," Sam said, his voice loud and angry. "She tried to make it sound like she was stealing in order to help Mercedes."

"Yeah, that sounds like her. Roz used to do that. She told Mercedes's dad she had the garden bulldozed because the grandparents were getting older, the garden was too much for them, and they needed to take up swimming for their health. Aphasia's just doing what her mother taught her."

"Yeah, well, she's not going to do it to Mercedes ever again. Next time—if there is one—I'll be there."

"So why did you stand back and just listen this time?"

"It would take too long to explain," Sam said. "I have to go find Mercedes. But come get that girl or I'll throw her in the street."

"What am I supposed to do with her?" Mike asked, annoyed.

"Get her to sign papers saying she'll stay away from Mercedes. And Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks again for all you did for Mercedes when she was growing up."

"You're welcome," Mike said. "But I warn you that if you don't take her to visit my mother often, she'll put a curse on you."

"Gladly," Sam said and clicked off. For a while Mike sat in the chair by the pool and thought about not going. He was staying in a house that belonged to a man named Anthony Rashad and he liked it very much. He'd never tell Mercedes, but he hated that old house she'd inherited. He liked new and modern. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine not going to pick up Aphasia. Just leave her there, let her find her own way off the island. She got here by herself, so she could get herself back to the mainland. But Mike knew he wouldn't do that. He'd take care of Aphasia for Mercedes and for his mom. Slowly, he got up and went into the house to change into jeans and a shirt.

The bad thing about having put on his act to turn Mercedes off was that he'd alienated the entire Smythe-Evans family. There were half a dozen of them staying in the house for a few days after the wedding, but they wanted nothing to do with Mike. He'd been left alone while they went to beaches and shops and all the other delights of the glorious island of Nantucket. To Mike's mind, all of this was Aphasia's fault. If Roz hadn't been obsessed with her daughter, Mercedes wouldn't have needed protection, which meant that now . . .

As Mike got into his rented car, he made himself stop thinking in that direction. The truth was that he was angry at Aphasia for what had happened at his office. He'd had a friendship with Mercedes all her life, but he'd paid little attention to the stepsister. As a child, she'd looked at him with big brown eyes, a teddy bear clutched to her, and rarely said a word. But then, Roz said enough for both of them. She constantly yelled at little Aphasia to come inside or she might hurt. There was a time when Mike asked Mercedes if the kid was accident prone.

"Nah," Mercedes said. "Scabs mess up the photos."

At the time, Mike figured the kid just liked having her picture taken. It wasn't until later that he realized Mercedes meant the photos taken at all the modeling agencies, TV auditions, whatever Roz came up with. She and Aphasia would drop Mercedes off at school, then get on the commuter flight to New York. Mercedes would return to an empty house and a bowl of canned soup for dinner. He hadn't paid attention to Aphasia until he saw her in a bikini—and after that he stayed away from her totally. Inviting her to work had been an impulse. That day, he'd enjoyed her company. When they'd gone to a mall to buy her clothes, she'd asked him a lot of questions about his work, and he was surprised to find out that she understood everything he told her. Mike's original goal in taking Aphasia to work was to throw his ex, Brittany, into a jealous fit. But by the time he and Aphasia got to his office he'd forgotten about that.

At the office, she'd been charming to everyone. She was so tall and beautiful that she was a bit intimidating, but she soon set people at ease. As for Brittany, she and Aphasia had hit it off like best friends, talking about clothes and shoes and the earrings Brittany was wearing. When one of the partners demanded that Mike go over a brief right then, he'd been annoyed. But Aphasia had assured him that she'd be fine on her own. He'd just finished when the partner who'd dumped the work on him flung his door open and bawled him out about Aphasia. Seems she'd slipped into his office and made lewd suggestions to him, had even unbuttoned her blouse in a suggestive way. Mike had been livid! He'd apologized profusely, then gone to find Aphasia. When he saw that the silk blouse he'd bought her was missing a button, his anger made him unable to speak.

All the way back to Mercedes's house, he didn't say a word to her, and barely slowed the car to let her out. Now, he parked in front of Mercedes's Nantucket house, then got out and slammed the door loudly. What was he going to do with Aphasia once he got her out of here? Take her back to Rashad's house for the night? She'd probably come on to one of the Smythe men. When Mike found the front door locked, he got even angrier. He knocked but there was no answer. He went around the house, tapping on windows, but all were locked and silent. Finally, he reached the far side and saw double doors. One of them was standing open. Just as he touched it, there was a crack of lightning followed by a boom of thunder and rain started coming down hard. He barely made it inside before he got soaked. It was dark in the room and when he flipped the switch, nothing happened.

"Great!" he muttered. Lightning showed another door and the windows, but when he checked, they were all locked. He was trapped inside the room.

"This is ridiculous!" he said aloud and picked up a heavy metal vase. He was going to throw it through the window and get out that way.

"It won't work," said a voice behind him and Mike gasped. Still holding the vase, he turned to see Aphasia sitting on a small couch in a corner of the room. She had on jeans and heels and the Chanel jacket he'd bought for her. She looked fabulous. But her good looks only made him angrier. He threw the vase at the window hard. It hit the glass and bounced off onto the window seat, then rolled onto the floor. Behind him, Aphasia lit a candle.

"I told you it wouldn't work. I've thrown six things at that window, but the glass won't break."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I read that half the houses on Nantucket are haunted so it's my guess that there are ghosts here and they're protecting Saint Mercedes. But then everyone does, don't they?"

"Why not?" Mike said. "She needs it."

"Of course. Dear, persecuted Mercedes. She's only loved by everyone who meets her. I guess you know she's thrown you over for some rich ex-soldier."

Mike was rattling knobs and he put his shoulder to a door, but nothing moved. Outside, the rain was pelting down hard. He went across the room and plopped down in a chair across from Aphasia.

"What did you do to Mercedes this time?"

"Tried to get out of being sued."

"Funny thing about the law. You steal something and you get punished."

"And Mercedes's loving entourage will see to that, won't they? Tell me, will I go to jail?" When she looked at him, he saw that she'd been crying.

"A little late for remorse, isn't it?" He got up and tried the door again, but it didn't budge. Aphasia held up the ring Mike had bought in the candlelight.

"This from you? For Mercedes? She turn you down?"

Mike didn't like the way she put that, but he wasn't going to explain his motives.

"What makes you think that?"

"Just a guess. Did she know how cheap it is?"

Mike sat down again and glared at her. He wanted to yell at her. How could she have done that at his office? Did she think the man was going to leave his wife for her? Or that he was rich enough to keep a mistress? Aphasia looked up from the ring.

"Why?" she whispered. "What happened that made you so angry at me at the office?"

He couldn't keep from sneering. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Johnson told me how you came on to him."

For a moment, Aphasia closed her eyes, then she got up and got her bag off the big dresser. She opened it, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Mike.

"So? You got Johnson's card."

She was still standing in front of him and she turned the card over. Handwritten on the back was an address and a phone number. It took him a moment to realize what they were. The address was of the corporate apartment, the one used by out-of-town clients. He didn't recognize the number.

"If you call it, you'll find that it's your boss's private cell number."

"How did you get this?"

Aphasia sat back down on the couch, looked at the candle, and didn't answer him. But Mike had a lawyer's brain and he figured it out. He'd seen the way Johnson looked at Aphasia when she was introduced. At the time, he'd felt nothing but pride. Later, the man had sent Mike away to do work and that's when he must have done whatever caused Aphasia to lose a button.

"How did you get away?" Mike asked softly.

"I told him no in a way that let him know I meant it," she said. "I've had a lot of experience doing that."

All the anger left Mike and he fell back against the chair. "I'm really sorry."

"Good," Aphasia said. "Maybe you'll remember that when you're trying to get me sent to prison."

Mike winced because all day he'd worked to do just that. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about how he could persuade Mercedes to press charges against her

stepsister.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why did your boss see me as an easy mark? I don't know."

The rain was slashing outside and the darkness of the room with the single candle made them seem isolated, just the two of them.

"That's not what I mean," he said. "For all those years, I saw and heard what went on in the Jones house, but it was all from one side. I've seen you do mean things to Mercedes. You buried her toys. I saw you pour grape juice on her new dress. You bent the spokes on her bicycle. Why?"

When Aphasia looked up, there was something deep in her eyes, a kind of emptiness.

"No one knows this, but I don't know how to ride a bicycle. I used to watch you and Mercedes riding together and my jealousy nearly devoured me."

"What did you have to be jealous of Mercedes about?" He was incredulous.

Aphasia snorted in derision. "You want to hear the truth? The real truth?"

"Yes, I do."

She took a moment before speaking. "No one seemed to understand that my mother was obsessed with using my looks to make money. How I looked was everything to her. While Mercedes was liked. Loved even." Aphasia got up from the couch and began to pace.

"I was jealous of Mercedes from the second I went to live in her house. She had grandparents who adored her. They cared about her so much they grew food in the backyard. But my mother was dragging me around to auditions for everything she could find and I was lucky if I got a candy bar for dinner." She stopped to glare at Mike, who was sitting there listening intently.

"Mom didn't bulldoze their garden to put in a swimming pool. She did it because she knew it would make the grandparents so angry that they'd leave. They were beginning to say things like '_Oh, Roz, let the child stay home. I made a nice butternut squash soup_.' I wanted to stay home. I was hoping that maybe they'd start liking me as well as Mercedes. Mom saw it all, so the garden had to go. And of course when the grandparents left, they wanted to take their beloved Mercedes with them, but Mom said no. Mercedes was free babysitting."

Aphasia took a breath. "Yeah, I did rotten things to Mercedes. I remember one day Mom was yelling at me because I couldn't memorize lines from a Shakespeare play. Mercedes was on her computer with her grandparents in Florida. They kept saying how they loved her and missed her and couldn't wait to see her again. That night I went into Mercedes's room and poured Diet Coke on her keyboard."

Mike was watching her with interest. Aphasia took a breath, her hands in fists at her side. "Then Mom and Dad died when I was still a minor. After that, I was at Perfect Mercedes's mercy. She quit college and took on lots of jobs so I wouldn't be put in a foster home. All I heard was what a martyr Mercedes was. While I was reviled. I was the one who'd caused poor, dear, sweet, lovable Mercedes to have to give up her career.

"So, yeah, I acted out. Between no longer being under my mother's thumb and having to live with Saint Mercedes, I went wild. I admit it. The day after I graduated from high school, I told Mercedes what I thought of her. I left with some no-good dirtbag just to make her angry. I went to L.A. and tried to get jobs in movies, but I wasn't any good."

"So you returned home," Mike said.

"Yeah, I did, and people rushed to tell me every wonderful thing Mercedes had done, then they asked me what I had achieved. And the answer to that was a big fat nothing."

She paused for a moment. "And then one night I was watching TV and Mercedes was, of course, at work, and an express envelope was delivered. I put it on a chair and it fell down the side and I forgot about it. A couple of days later, when I saw the corner of it sticking up, I panicked. I thought Mercedes would throw me out on the street. I only opened it to see how much trouble I'd be in for not giving it to her right away."

Aphasia took a few breaths to calm herself down. "When I read that she'd inherited a house from a guy she'd never even met, I went crazy with anger. It was all so deeply unfair. Why did she get everything good in life?!

"I didn't think about what I did. I wrote Sebastian that I was Mercedes and I had lots of degrees and I would gladly accept the house. It threw me when he told me some rich guy wanted me to do physical therapy on his son, but what was I supposed to do? I couldn't back down, so I agreed to take him on as a client. Mercedes's such a do-gooder, I figured that once I was there I could get her to write me out a plan for how to work on the guy. Most of all, I saw the whole thing as my once-in-a-lifetime chance to take another path. Just for a while I'd pretend to be Mercedes, a person who never screwed up, who never got weak-kneed at the sight of a guy in black leather sitting on a big Harley. I'd have a highly respected career—and I'd be liked. Loved. Just like Mercedes is.

"But it all backfired and I may be sent to prison. Yet again, Mercedes is the good one and I'm bad. But then she probably won't prosecute me even after I tried to steal an entire house from her! What does it take to knock her off that holy cloud she lives on?!"

Mike was staring at her. He'd never heard this many words from Aphasia— and her anger had taken away his. "I think we should ignore the rain and get out of here."

"All right," she said. When Mike tried the doorknob, it turned easily and outside the rain had stopped. He led the way to his car across grass that was quite dry and opened the door for Aphasia. When he got in, he paused for a moment to look at her. Even though he'd known her since she was a kid, he was feeling that he didn't know her at all.

"Mind if we get carry-out and go back to the house where I've been staying? I think we should talk more. All right?"

"I'd like that," Aphasia said and smiled at him.

* * *

Mercedes kept looking at Sam as she worked on his knee. He was lying on the massage table and staring up at the arbor. Neither of them was speaking. But then last night they'd done a lot of talking. They'd ended up buying food at Bartlett's, then driving back to the chapel. It was a quiet place and that's what they needed. The building was beautiful in the fading light. They walked past it to sit on the sand by the water. Mercedes was still feeling the effects of her confrontation with Aphasia and she didn't know if she was happy or sad about it. _What happened now?_ Sam sat down with his braced leg stretched out and he took care of the food while Mercedes began to talk. He wanted to hear her side of her life. He didn't tell her what he and Mike had spoken about. Mercedes's side of the story was softer than Mike's version. Between the two, Sam was able to see what had been a very lonely childhood. But what he liked was that Mercedes carried no bitterness or hatred about it all. She just wanted it all to stop. She especially wanted to quit worrying that Aphasia was going to steal her boyfriend.

"You mean me?" Sam asked. "I'm the bargaining chip?"

"You are," she said. "If you and I are . . . you know."

That led into a discussion of their future, and they agreed that they'd like to try being together.

"I'd just like to stay here for now," Sam said, "here on this magical island."

"Me too," Mercedes said.

They made love on the beach. Slow, sweet love. Gentle, quiet, enduring love. Afterward, they lay in each other's arms and looked at the stars, saying nothing, but both of them thinking about the future and where they would go from there. It was late when they left and drove home. They slept together, cuddled, wrapped up in each other. And when Sam's nightmares began, Mercedes was there to soothe him.

* * *

In the morning they went about their usual routine, but they kept stealing looks at each other. _Was this the person they would spend their lives with?_ Mercedes received a text message from Mike.

**APHASIA IS WITH ME AND I'M TAKING HER HOME TOMORROW.**

After she read it to Sam, he made a call to Hunter. The last of the Smythe-Evans family had left the island and were on their way home. Sam clicked off the phone.

"I think you should be told something, but I'm not sure how you're going to take it." He told Mercedes that Aphasia and Mike had spent the night together. Night as in one bed.

"Oh," Mercedes said and sat down on a chair at the Burtchen table.

"Are you okay with this?"

"Sure," she said. "It's just a bit of a shock." She looked at him. "But, no, it's not. Not really. Mike never treated Aphasia as a little girl, at least not after she reached puberty. What's that look for?"

"Hunter said Mike asked him an odd question. He wanted to know if Hunter knew where to buy a set of motorcycle leathers."

Mercedes and Sam looked at each other and laughed at the vision of a lawyer in black leather with silver studs. Sam told Mercedes of his talk with Mike and how he'd looked after her all her life. Sam recounted Mike's attraction to Aphasia but that he'd held off for the sake of Mercedes and his mother.

"He did all that for me?" Mercedes asked in wonder. Sam could see what a shock it all was to her and that she needed a way to relieve the stress.

"Let's hit the gym."

Mercedes groaned. "How did I get stuck with a doctor-jock?"

"I'm not sure, but I think a couple of ghosts did it all. You and me, and maybe Mike and Aphasia. Hunter said that Mike kept talking about a storm last night that locked him and Aphasia together in the tea room."

They looked at each other and laughed. And now Sam was on the table and Mercedes was finishing with his knee. It was nearly four P.M. After Sam got dressed, they walked back to the house together. There, sitting on the Burtchen table, was one of the lavish teas, with food piled high and a steaming pot of tea.

"Terry, I love you," Sam said as he washed his hands, Mercedes beside him.

"I enjoyed your relatives' visit, but I'm glad to get back to normal," Mercedes said. "We need to thank Terry for all this and do something nice for her."

"Shall we give her a trip away from her angry daughter-in-law?" Sam suggested.

"I wonder how Rachel and Brody did with all your relatives staying there? Especially the children."

"I'm sure the Smythe kids were perfectly polite, but Mom said Stacie discovered the way into the attic and found a box full of magazines with naked men on the covers."

"Ooooo," Mercedes said. "Will she share?"

"I think that—" He broke off at a knock on the back door. "Speak of the devil, it's Rachel."

He went to the door, Mercedes just behind him.

"Hello," Sam said as he opened the door. "It's good to—"

"Have you seen my mother-in-law?" Rachel demanded. "Has she been over here to see those damned ghosts of yours?"

"We haven't seen her," Mercedes said, "but she brought us another fabulous tea from your beautiful inn."

"We should pay you for them," Sam said. "Tell me what you charge and Mercedes and I will repay you. Plus a delivery fee."

Rachel frowned. "What are you two talking about?"

"The teas Terry brings over," Mercedes said. "But maybe you don't know about them. Sorry, but as Sam said, we'll pay for them."

"Tea?" Rachel said. "Delivered to you by my mother-in-law? Brings them over often, does she?"

"Yes, fairly regularly," Sam said, leaning on his crutches.

"Remember the last time I was here?" Rachel asked and they nodded. "The next afternoon Brody and I sent Terry to Arizona to visit her daughter. She just got back this morning and she's already disappeared. I don't know who's been bringing you food, but it wasn't her."

"Then who was it?" Mercedes asked, puzzled. She stepped aside so Rachel could see the table with the opulent tea set up. There were a couple of tiered trays full of sandwiches and cookies, cakes and pastries.

"As you can see," Sam said, "there's a lot of food and the big pot of tea. Maybe someone else from your inn is delivering it."

Rachel looked from one to the other. "You two are as crazy as my mother-in law. There is nothing on that table but a bunch of empty dishes." She put her hand on the door. "I think my mother-in-law should go back to Arizona. It's saner there." With a shake of her head, she left, closing the door firmly behind her.

Sam and Mercedes looked at each other, then very slowly turned toward the table. Moments before they had been hungrily eating the wide variety of foods and drinking tea that never grew cold. But now they saw empty dishes. They were sparkling clean, but then they had often washed and stacked them, ready for whenever Terry came by and picked them up. There was no food and no steam coming from the teapot. When Sam and Mercedes looked back at each other, their eyes widened as they realized that for weeks they'd been eating nothing. And without saying it aloud, they knew that each feast had been prepared by hands that no longer existed. Mercedes was the first to speak.

"So now we see why I lost weight."

For a moment Sam looked as though he didn't know what to say, but then a bit of laughter escaped him.

"The Ghost Diet," Mercedes said. "Think it will catch on?" She too began to laugh. Within seconds, they couldn't hold back. They fell into each other's arms and their laughter filled the house. And inside the tea room, two beautiful young women smiled at each other. Yet again, they had helped True Love find itself.

* * *

Three months after Holly's wedding, an email from Aphasia came through. Mercedes drew in her breath.

"She and Mike have set a wedding date for next January and she wants me to be her maid of honor."

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked.

"Decline, of course. She only asked me so I'd do all the work for the wedding while she does nothing. Absolutely not."

"Having relatives isn't all fairy tale happiness," he said. "I think you should give yourself some time to think about what you want to do."

Mercedes thought that was good advice, so for three days she thought about nothing else. The first day she felt only anger. Of course she'd refuse! How dare Aphasia even ask? But by the second day Mercedes began to consider the repercussions of her actions. If she did attend Aphasia and Mike's wedding, would it be with a heart full of anger? Did Mike deserve that? Would she cry with Mike's mother about the horror of his marrying someone like Aphasia? By the third day Mercedes knew she had to make an effort at attaining peace.

She left Sam in Nantucket and flew back to her house outside Boston. Things there were worse than she'd imagined. Mike's mother was despondent to the point of depression. She was sure that her son was ruining his life—and she told him so often. Mike was working sixteen-hour days to keep his mind off the problems of his personal life. And according to him, Aphasia was living in fear that at any minute he was going to break up with her. Nothing he said reassured her. Mercedes decided she had to help Mike and his mother. First of all, she spent hours talking with Mike. She wanted to be sure that he loved Aphasia and wasn't just infatuated with her looks. She heard of his long-term love, and he told her about Aphasia's side of her childhood hurt. It took a couple of days and many telephone talks with Sam, but Mercedes adjusted to this new knowledge. Mercedes thought about sitting down with her stepsister and having a heart-to heart talk. But what would that be like? Bringing up years of accusations?

"You broke my doll!"

"Your grandparents loved you but not me!"

"You stole my boyfriend!"

"You got to play when we were kids, but I didn't."

No, that would accomplish nothing. After some very long talks with Sam, then with his aunt Holly, Mercedes decided to use the coming wedding to bridge some of the gaps between people. Mercedes went to Mike's mother and put on the show of her life. She took half a dozen bride magazines with her and, crying rather copiously, said that Aphasia wanted her to plan her wedding, but Mercedes didn't know how. Within ten minutes, Mrs. Chang was organizing a wedding. It took Mercedes two days before she managed to get Aphasia into her place. She and Mike's mother became obsessed with flowers and cakes and gowns and even the crystals on the shoes. When Aphasia told her future mother-in-law that she'd dearly love to have a baby right away, the bond was sealed. In the ensuing peace, Mike called Mercedes and said,

"I love you."

Mercedes laughed. "So did you decide on peonies or roses?"

"Who cares? Really, Mercedes, Mom and Aphasia are shopping together and making baby plans and—" He took a breath. "Thank you."

"What I did was nothing compared to what you and your mom did for my life. Are we friends?"

"Forever," Mike said.

As soon as she clicked off, she called Sam. "I'm coming home tomorrow."

All he could say was a heartfelt "Yes!"

As she flew back to Nantucket, she knew she was leaving behind a lifetime of anger and resentment. She didn't think she and Aphasia would ever be true friends but neither would there be deep hatred. There would be shared holidays and exchanges of triumphs and failures. Somehow, they would manage to leave the past behind. That night, as she lay in bed with Sam, she told him everything she was feeling.

"It's all normal in families," he said.

* * *

As winter approached, Mercedes and Sam began talking about their futures. They'd made no decisions about where to live or if Sam could go back to medicine or how Mercedes was going to work. Should she set up a private clinic? Work for a hospital? It was growing colder on the island and they knew that many stores and services would soon be closing. There wouldn't be a lot of work for Mercedes. One night they were sitting on the bed, each with a computer on their lap.

"Holy—" Sam said, his eyes wide. Mercedes looked at him. "What is it?"

He turned his laptop to face her. On the screen was a photo of a house with a deep porch and a glassed-in room.

"Is it the one from your dream?"

"Yes," Sam said and they exchanged looks. "It's exactly the one I imagined."

Without saying anything, they both knew who was behind this. After months in the house, they no longer commented on what the Tea Ladies did. They'd had Will and Valery Schuester to dinner twice and Will had talked about the ladies as if he'd known them personally. When Sam and Mercedes spent a long weekend in Tennessee with his family, Will had asked if he could house-sit. Later he said he'd had a lovely visit with the ladies. By that time Mercedes and Sam were so used to things being moved, needlework that finished itself, doors that opened and closed by themselves, that they didn't question a mere conversation. Michael had visited once and Mercedes had loved getting to know him better. When Michael showed up, he had a box of information about what happened to his ancestor after he'd been made to leave Nantucket. It was the story of a man with a broken heart that never fully healed. The three of them spread all the documents out on the tables in the tea room, turned out the lights, and left them there. The next morning everything had been neatly stacked on one table, but a photo of a portrait of Michael as an old man was missing. There was a card beside the papers. In pretty, old-fashioned handwriting, it said

_THANK YOU,_

_MIRANDA JONES_

Sam and Mercedes thought the card was very sweet, but Michael said,

"I need a drink."

For the rest of his visit, Mercedes and Sam refrained from mentioning the resident ghosts. Mercedes looked at the picture of the house on the computer screen.

"I like it.

What does Uncle Burt say about it?"

Sam read the email. "He's bought a big old house for himself in a small town in Virginia. He says that when he saw this house—and it's for sale—he thought of you and me."

He read more of the email. "Ah. Here it is. I knew Uncle Burt had an ulterior motive. He says the town has only one doctor. It did have two, a father and son, but last year the father died. Now the son is having to work long hours on his own and he needs help."

He looked at Mercedes. "Uncle Burt says this town is near a big lake with many houses on it. According to him, there are lots of injuries to people who sit all winter, then in the summer think they're still teenagers. He says a physical therapy clinic would do well there."

Sam's eyes were intense. "What do you think?"

"I like the idea very much," she said. "What about you? Think you're ready to be a doctor again?"

"I think maybe I'm ready to try. Part-time, anyway." Pausing, he looked at her. "If you'll be there to help me, that is."

"Yes," she answered, her eyes serious. "I will go with you wherever you want to go. Or stay here with you." For a moment they looked at each other, then their computers were pushed aside, and they were in each other's arms. They knew that wherever they went, whatever they did, they wanted to do it together.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! One more chapter for the epilogue and we're done!


	20. Epilogue

I don't own the story. It's belong to Jude Deveraux. I just borrowed it and put my OTP in it.

Mercedes smiled as she heard the noise coming from the backyard of the house. She walked to the window in the kitchen and looked through it to the backyard. Her smile became wider as he watched Sam played with their twin boys, Sage and Shawn. The four years old twins were running around with their water guns - aiming at their father. Sam, whose clothes were soaked went to get the water hose and turned it on, spraying his boys and soaking them. He laughed heartily as he watched the dumbfounded boys. Mercedes shook her head at the scene in front of her.

"Okay, that's enough fun! Go inside and clean yourself for dinner" Mercedes said - making her presence known. They turned to look at her and grinned.

"You heard your mother. Keep the water guns and go clean up!" Sam said. The boys did as told. They took the towel and went inside the house. Sam walked towards Mercedes. Once he got to her, he leaned down and kissed her. Then, he kissed her baby bump.

"Hey, there baby girl!" he said to her pregnant belly. He grinned when he felt the kicks.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked Mercedes as he took the towel and dried his hair. Mercedes watched as he took off his shirt and wiped her body.

"I'm good. Now, go and clean up. You better make sure the boys are ready too" she said. Sam smiled and kissed her once again before he went to change his clothes and rounded their sons for dinner.

Mercedes was resting in their room when Sam walked in after putting Sage and Shawn to bed. Sam climbed the bed and snuggled close to his wife who seemed to be lost in thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as he wrapped his strong arms around her protruding stomach.

"Our lives. I can't believe it's been six years since the first time I laid my eyes on you. It was a whirlwind year for me" Mercedes said she remembered everything that had happened during that fateful year. Aphasia's cheating and the news that she had inherited a house, meeting Sam and meeting his family.

"It was - eventful" Sam said, agreeing with Mercedes.

_After Sam received the email from his uncle Burt and discussed it with Mercedes, he decided to buy the house. A month later, Mercedes asked Jared to sell the Nantucket house and they moved to Virginia. Sam and Mercedes opened a private clinic that caters to general medicine and physical therapy. Six months after moving to Virginia, Sam proposed to Mercedes and she accepted it. Mary was over the moon when Sam told her about his plan to propose. Once Mercedes said yes to his proposal, they had a skype conference with the Evans family. The whole Smythe-Evans clans congratulated them and everyone welcomed Mercedes into the family - even Stevie. His relationship with Mercedes became better when Sam confronted his brother and explained everything to him._

_Six months after the engagement, they were married. Sam and Mercedes decided to have their wedding in Nantucket since it was where everything started. So, the whole Smythe-Evans clans once again gathered in Nantucket for another wedding. Mercedes had invited Michael, her cousin, as well as Mrs Chang, together with Mike and Aphasia. There was no more animosity between her and her stepsister._

_Once again, the island of Nantucket was filled with the Smythe-Evans clans. Mercedes was surrounded by the ladies as they started on the wedding preparation much to Sam's dismay. Ever since they set their feet in Nantucket, he hadn't had any alone time with his fiance._

_"Why are you so grumpy?" Ryder asked as he sat next to Sam in the living room._

_"Geez, Ryder! Do you need to ask that dumb question?" Mason chimed in as he sat on Sam's right._

_"He misses his bride to be" Hunter, who was sitting across them chimed in. Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance as his cousins laughed._

_"Can you believe that it's been two years since we've met Mercedes?" Mason said as the laughter subsided._

_"And now he's marrying this fool" added Ryder._

_"He was gone the first time he laid his eyes on him" Sebastian who was quiet said as he recalled the first meeting between Sam and Mercedes._

_"God, I almost faint when I first saw her. Her beauty almost knocked me out" Sam added dreamily._

_"Stevie almost ruined everything before your relationship even started though" Hunter said. Stevie rolled his eyes at him._

_"Can we forget about that?" he groaned._

_Hunter's right though. Mercedes likes everyone except you" Mason said._

_"I was surprise that he didn't throw a tantrum when Sam told us that they're engaged!" Ryder said._

_"Ugh! I hate you guys!" Stevie said. "But, in my defense, my concern was valid though. Even mom thought there was something between Hunter and Mercedes" he continued._

_"True indeed. You Smythes are nothing in her eyes. But Hunter - he's my rival if she didn't like me at the time" Sam added thoughtfully. They continued talking and joking like they always do whenever they gathered and Sam was grateful that he was getting much better than the time they were in Nantucket during Holly's wedding._

_Mercedes looked at the shining stars in the sky. She finally able to take a breather out of the wedding planning much to her relief. She rested her back on the wall and inhale the fresh air of Nantucket._

_"Mind if I join you?"_

_She nodded and smiled at Mary who sat next to her. Mary gave her a mug filled with hot chocolate and she gratefully accepted it._

_"Thank you" Mercedes said as she sipped the drink._

_"It's tomorrow" Mary said, smiling widely. "Are you nervous?" she asked._

_"Surprisingly, I'm not nervous - excited, yes. I can't wait to marry Sam"_

_Mary chuckled. "I bet the same goes to my son. The cousins are there with him, but Mason did tell us that he is sullen because he hadn't had time alone with you yet"_

_Mercedes chuckled. She could imagine Sam's sulking face and she knew that she missed him too._

_"I am grateful to you, Mercedes. For everything that you did to my son" Mary said. "Dwight and I - we thought that we would never see the Sam that we knew - the one before the war broke him. Then, you appeared in his life and bit by bit, we got out son back"_

_Mercedes smiled._

_"It's my pleasure, Ma Mary"_

_Sam anxiously stood at the altar as he waited for his bride to come. Stevie stood beside him as his best man. The organ was played and Sean and Stacie walked in with the flowers followed by the bridesmaids and the groomsmen - which consists of Sam's cousins. Then, his eyes fell onto Mercedes who walked in with Michael and Sam almost forgot how to breath as he looked at she was getting closer to him. Mercedes reached at the altar and smiled at Sam whose eyes were transfixed on her. _

_"Your beauty is out of this world" Sam whispered to her. _

_"You look quite handsome too" Mercedes replied, grinning at her groom. The priest began the ceremony and when he announced that they are now husband and wife, Sam pulled Mercedes toward him and kissed her amidst the catcalls from his cousins. They pulled apart and Sam stared at Mercedes - smiling lopsidedly at her._

_"Hey, Mrs Evans" he said, grinning._

_"Hey, Mr Evans" she replied, wearing the identical grin on her face. _

"I still remember the feeling of kissing you after the wedding ceremony" Sam said. His right hand was applying the lotion on the stretch marks of Mercedes's belly. Mercedes chuckled.

"It was pretty amazing!" she said. "Then, you knocked me up on the same night. It was definitely true what they said about the Evans"

Sam looked at her. "What did they say?" he asked. Mercedes smirked.

"That you guys are extremely fertile" she said, thinking about what Holly and Mary had warned her during one of their earliest meetings. Sam laughed.

"Well, I got numbers of cousins to prove that!" he said. "And not to mention our own bun in the oven and the two monsters sleeping in their rooms" he added.

"We definitely had Mercedes and Miranda to thank for" Mercedes said after awhile. Sam nodded.

"Indeed we do. Without their helps, we might be miserable before we finally face our feeling. I might've lost you to Hunter or Mike" he said.

"Nah! Mike might be my first love, but he's not you. You crept into my heart and kicked him out without I realised it. Even Hunter didn't stand a chance"

Sam finished putting the lotion. He kept the lotion on the night stand. Then, he turned and looked at Mercedes.

"Glad to hear it. I love you, Mercedes Evans. You fixed me and do know that I love and appreciate you" Sam said as he leaned toward her and kissed her.

The epilogue is 100% my work. So, do forgive me for any mistakes.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Now that I got this out of my system, maybe it's time to update Love Is...


End file.
